


it's not over yet

by mmtion



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, henchman!Steve, villain!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmtion/pseuds/mmtion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve didn't crash in the ice. But the super soldier serum slows his ageing, and he grows bitter as he watches his friends grow old and die without him. So bitter, that he leaves Captain America behind to become a criminal for hire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bad Guy

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by the lovely Logan.

The cell is cold and electronic – after the past three fiascos, the architects learned not to bother with concrete, since it would only be used against the guards. Apparently the new design is from Stark Enterprises. Each cell is designed to neutralize the powers of the prisoner inside.  
  
They’re not half bad – he hasn’t been able to escape in the past two months, which is a first.  
  
The newest of his prison stays is also the newest to be built by SHIELD to contain all the super-villains that keep cropping up. Its design is almost flawless in ingenuity. Located in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, it is suspended in the air by some kind of repulsive system, so even if a criminal were to escape the main structure, they would still fall fifty feet into the water. Known as the Hover by the agents, and the Dump by the inmates, the flying fortress is well-equipped to deal with special powers and abilities.  
  
Warden Gilbert rattles his (electronic) baton across the (electronic) bars of the cells, all lined up in a neat little corridor.  
  
“Time to sleep, sweetie-pies!” He calls into the moonlight. Gilbert has watched one too many movies in his fifty-two years, and is under the impression his job title includes trying to antagonise the inmates. Unfortunately, his wit is similar to Spider-Man’s, in that it doesn’t work on anyone with an IQ above fifty.  
  
Steve Rogers sighs into his pillow and scratches at a mosquito on his neck.  
  
He shares his cell with a small scarecrow of a man called Denzin Smith, some fool who decided the best way to take on the Fantastic Four was to do so using a computer-controlled liquid substance. According to Smith, it managed to get into the Baxter Building plumbing system easily, a clear sign of its creator’s genius. Unfortunately, said creator hadn’t counted on the fact that the liquid was highly combustible, which was really quite a poor property to have when facing the Human Torch.  
  
“You still awake, Rogers?” Smith whispers from the top bunk, his scrawny, pointy face peering over the side.  
  
Steve counts to ten and opens his eyes. “Sure. What do you want?”  
  
“I hear Hamilton’s dirty.”  
  
“Agent Hamilton?”  
  
Smith bobs his head. “That’s right. Narky says-”  
  
“Quiet!” A guard calls from outside.  
  
Smith lowers his voice to a barely audible whisper. “Narky says that if you pay Hamilton right, he’ll give your number to the right people, if you know what I mean. Narky says that he has contacts in high places.”  
  
Steve thinks to himself. Though Narky (real name: Greg Tomoritz, known for attempting to electrocute Wolverine to death) wasn’t always the most reliable source, Steve had suspected Agent Hamilton to be dirty from the start.  
  
“Why are you telling me?” Steve asks nonchalantly.  
  
“I was thinking that if you get out you could...” Smith pauses. “Leave the door open, so to speak. Put a good word in for me when you talk to Hamilton. Say you want me to come with you.”  
  
“Why don’t you just talk to Hamilton himself?”  
  
Smith scoffs. “Hamilton doesn’t agree to just anyone who talks to him. But he’ll say yes to you.” Smith’s eyes gleam in the darkness.  
  
Steve nods. “Fine. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”  
  
And true to his word, Steve does. Prisoners are carefully categorised here, and so when Steve is brought in to the canteen for lunch with the other Strong ‘Uns, he makes sure to sit as close as possible to where Hamilton is posted.  
  
He eats his mashed potato calmly – trying to ignore the lumps and suspicious green flecks – and sips at his carton of juice. Eventually, just as he’s about to attempt the think-it’s-meat-but-can’t-be-sure, he hears a shuffle and he hears Hamilton’s breath beside his ear.  
“Are you feeling at home yet?”  
  
Steve shrugs, inscrutable to any onlookers. “Could do with a bit of a fresh air.”  
  
Hamilton steps away again, just as Warden Gilbert walks into the room. Steve doesn’t look up and hears Gilbert’s footsteps come louder and louder. The room slowly ebbs away into silence.  
  
“Rogers, right?”  
  
Steve still doesn’t look up – he pokes at the mystery meat with his plastic fork instead.  
  
“Rogers, I was talkin’ to you.” A hand clamps on Steve’s shoulder and he reacts before he thinks. He stands up and has a death grip on Gilbert’s wrist, about to dislocate the whole arm in an irreparable way, when he’s reminded why he shouldn’t do such things.  
  
The electric shock zaps him into complacency. The cuffs fastened to each prisoner’s wrists are tailored to each individual weakness, or so the slogan says. In reality, the standard issue is one that administers an electric shock when the wearer is misbehaving. The exception is for super-powered prisoners who use electricity to their advantage, and in those cases, a simple paralysing toxin is injected into the bloodstream.  
  
Steve is manhandled back to his cell for detention, which only lasts for an hour or two before he’s scheduled into Sports and Recreation.  
  
In the centre of the Hover-Dump, there is a concrete area the size of a dieting football field, with a basketball hoop and some weights in a corner and rumour has it there used to be an actual basketball before it was used in an unpleasant escape attempt.  
  
Steve does thirty laps of the area, ignoring the threatening glances from some of the others also assigned to Sports and Recreation. There's one group of prisoners, huddled together, who each share a strange tattoo on their neck. It looks like a simple triangle from a distance, but if you get close enough, you can see it's actually a bunch of weird symbols that follow a triangle path. In the centre of the tattoo, there's a block Z.  
  
They look at him with darker expressions than usual as he goes for his thirty-first lap (his record is three hundred and two) and on his thirty-fifth, one of the later ones step into his path.  
  
"You want out?" The voice is gruff and Steve vaguely recognises the man. He's blond and hairy and his muscle-to-fat ratio is suspicious.  
  
Steve folds his arms over his chest.  
  
Taking that as an answer, a skinnier man steps out from the huddle and looks up at Steve. He has a rather emasculating ear piercing, a glittering diamond with a dangling plastic fang attached. Steve tries very hard not to laugh at it."Try to stay awake tonight. They say the stars look good at midnight."  
  
Steve nods, and starts running again.  
  
That night, Steve doesn't watch the stars. Instead, he watches the concrete opposite of the bunk bed. Smith snores contently above and the scratch of the bed sheets is familiar by now. Steve thinks of explosions in a muddy trench, and of undercover missions in dark castles and gloomy forests, and for an hour or so, he pretends that this is all part of an infiltration assignment – that he’s still fighting a black and white battle.  
  
He hears a faint scuffle come from the outside. He doesn't move, and continues to lie on his back, his hands rested on his stomach. Then a loud, blaring alarm comes from all around, a red light flashing from the corridor's ceiling. Steve calmly rolls out of bed and stretches his arms above his head. This isn’t his first prison break.  
  
Smith wakes up with even less grace than usual, almost tumbling out of his bed before catching himself at the last minute. "What's going on?" He exclaims, sleep making his voice deeper than usual.  
Steve just gives him a long, steady look.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Hamilton rushes past the cell, seemingly out of breath. But as he races past, his arm snaps out and a small device lands at Steve's feet. Before he can say anything, Hamilton is gone again.  
  
"What's that?" Smith asks loudly. Steve picks it up and turns it over in his hands. There's no button or switch to press, so Steve can't imagine how he's supposed to activate it. Then it beeps, once. He holds it near the cell door experimentally, and sure enough, there's a loud click and the bar cells disappear, like a light being switched off.  
  
Steve steps out first, warily. One step and he's out of the cell and in the corridor. He can feel the other prisoners' watch on his back. The atmosphere is silent and eerie; the calm before the storm.  
"Great!" Smith takes a step forward but Steve quickly holds a hand in front of him.  
  
"Wait," Steve commands.  
  
Smith obliges.  
  
Then Steve swipes the device where the bars should be and there they are again, snapping back to life.  
  
Smith's face turns to outrage as he realises what Steve has done. "Hey!" He cries. "We had a deal!"  
  
"You should have made me shake on it." Steve tells him coldly, and then he's running through the corridor.  
  
He knows that the boarding bay is on the right of the Hover-Dump - as soon as he was hauled in here, he was already planning a route of escape - and so he runs in that direction. At the very least, he knows he can jump into the water and swim to shore if his ride isn't there.  
  
But just as he turns the corner, the final corner before the massive, steel-enforced door looms in front of him, he sees a collection of guards standing there with their lasers and electronic batons and whatever new weapons SHIELD has issued them with.  
  
He stops. The first to see him in the darkness shouts to the others, and now they're all looking and aiming at him. His eyes dart between them.  
  
He’s already devising a strategy, when the gravity abruptly disappears.  
  
His body is pinned to the ceiling and so are all the guards, disorientation making Steve’s head swim. here's a loud whining sound and all Steve can think is that this isn't the first time he's being falling. He uses all the strength in his arms to right himself and push himself away from the ceiling so he can use the dropping Hover to his advantage. He doesn't quite know how, it's not really within the boundaries of physics and the G-force is making his eyes water, but he reaches the door and clings on to the handles with all he's worth.  
  
Then they open from the outside with a slam and he's propelled into the sky.  
  
He risks a look behind and suddenly, the power's back on and the Hover-Dump is hovering once again, all blue lights and concrete walls. But once again, he's falling, his heavy muscle bulk a disadvantage for once.  
  
He looks down and sees the sea coming to greet him with dark waves and cold froth. He curls himself into a ball and tries to make his body go as slack as he can.  
  
He bombs into the water, sinking a few feet into the water before he can move again, bubbles dancing around him. He pulls himself to the surface and keeps just his head above water.  
  
Breathing heavily, he ignores the freezing temperature as a light flickers in the distance. He frowns at its flashes and his mind serves him the reminder of learning Morse code.  
  
Rogers, the light spells out. It doesn't repeat itself and so Steve has to swim to the memory of the light. It's closer than he expected, and he treads water when he reaches a small fishing boat.  
  
He grabs on to the side and though he expects sodden wood, his hand grips steel. There's no-one on board, but once he pulls himself onto the starboard side; he can see the lantern used just a moment before. It’s still warm.  
  
He then sees a fresh pair of clothes, lying on an empty lobster cage. He picks them up and it's too dark to see the pattern but the texture feels good. A bit of stretch with a strong fibre.  
  
He strips his own clothes off and then pulls the new clothes on - it's a uniform of sorts, with a small metal badge on his chest. He can't see the badge's design but there are more pressing things to be concerned with, that much is obvious.  
  
He goes into the tiny cabin; he has to stoop to get inside.  
He looks at the control panel - a plan metal board with a few navigating devices and buttons. He sees one that's very clearly out of place - modern and maroon-coloured, it has no label or explanation.  
  
Steve weighs his options and then presses his finger against the button.  
  
Immediately, the floor drops beneath him and he falls down a large black hole.  
  
He hits the surface with enough force to break a normal person’s bones. His eyes snap open and he assesses his surroundings like a good little soldier. He's lying on some sand, on his back, and his ears have popped from a change in pressure. Either he's in the air again or he's deep below sea level - judging on the direction of the chute, he would guess the latter.  
  
He pushes himself up into a standing position and tenses.  
  
He's in a very simple room - like an arena without the audience. The walls are metal concrete and the floor is covered in mucky-coloured sand.  
  
He clasps his hands at the small of his back and stands with his feet straight. He waits.  
  
Just a few moments later, a voice sounds from a speaker in a corner.  
  
"Rogers?"  
  
Steve straightens even more at the sound of the voice. "Reporting for duty." He says. It must’ve been the right thing to say, because a moment of worrisome silence later, the voice speaks again, hissing sadistically.  
  
“Have fun.”  
  
A mechanical hiss from behind Steve, and he whirls around just in time to see two metal panels slide away from each other. Two figures walk forward, their faces impassive and their arms slung behind one shoulder. They wear a dark green uniform and when Steve looks down, he realises he's wearing similar attire.  
  
Steve frowns, and then he sees that each is holding tightly onto a glittering silver rope that is taut with force.  
  
He waits, an element of curiosity taming his battle sense, and yet another figure comes from the darkness, tied in between the two guards but lagging back.  
  
It's red and gold and metal, the shape of a man with a bright light nestled in its chest. It strains against the silvery rope tied around its neck, and its faceplate thrashes from side to side as it tries to get free.  
  
It would be impossible not to recognise the famous Iron Man.  
  
Even Steve, usually oblivious to human civilization, knows about Tony Stark, the man back from the dead with a -literally- shiny new heart. His escapades in the suit and out of it are famous across media and infamous in the criminal underground.  
  
But Steve focuses and instead of seeing the billionaire industrialist or the heroic playboy, he just sees the gold faceplate, with its two glowing slits for eyes.  
  
The doors slide together again, and a tiny light above turns to green once they're firmly shut.  
  
Then the two guards make the mistake off turning the rope off. As soon as its light has faded, they back away, but they're not fast enough.  
  
Like a reflex, Iron Man straightens his arms horizontally and two beams - repulsors, Steve remembers vaguely - shoot out from his palms. The two men are thrown against opposing walls before they can cry out. They're unconscious by the time they slide to the floor.  
  
Then Iron Man turns his attention to Steve.  
  
Steve tenses, crouching ever so slightly.  
  
Iron Man raises his palm so Steve can see straight at the glowing circle of light there.  
  
"Don't suppose you want to go quietly, Blondie?"  
  
Steve's jaw tightens and his hands rolls into fists.  
  
Iron Man sighs. "Alright."  
  
A high-pitched whine sounds from his hand, and Steve jumps out of the way just in time. A second later and the beam of light would've hit him square in the chest.  
  
Iron Man looks ready to fire again, but again, Steve is too quick for the second shot and he rolls away with the momentum. In an instance, he’s at Iron Man’s side and he makes an instinctive grab for his arm before he can fire at Steve.  
  
“Hey, big guy, that's personal property!" Iron Man’s other arm swings around and Steve ducks out of the way, pulling Iron Man down onto the floor. He crashes against the sand and Steve uses the opportunity to tighten his grip on the wrist.  
  
The metal doesn't even move underneath his hand – Iron Man uses Steve's surprise to jump up and drag Steve into the air. Steve's eyes widen at the beams come out Iron Man’s feet and makes a mental note: okay, so he’d forgotten than Iron Man can fly. A careless mistake, but not beyond repair.  
  
Iron Man then starts spinning in a tight circle and Steve is spun around like a fairground attraction. He keeps his grip on the arm though, and after a moment of unsuccessful rotating, Iron Man stops suddenly - Steve is thrown into the wall.  
  
Steve bites back a groan and gets back up again.  
  
“Not that I don’t admire your courage, bucko, but-”  
  
The name reminds Steve of painful memories and sharing a piece of bread next to a fire so he leaps at Iron Man before he can think twice about it. His hands latch around his metal neck and he doesn’t care if the metal’s too strong, he’ll find a way to break it.  
  
Iron Man jumps up and his foot repulsors start up again. Steve can see the manoeuvre coming before it happens and he uses momentum to twist around to Iron Man’s back, still clinging on like a madman as Iron Man flips upwards. If Steve had stayed where he was, he would’ve been slammed into the ceiling.  
  
By some strange miracle, his tightened fingers land on a tiny lever – so tiny, Steve doesn’t even realise he’s done anything until the face plate pops open with a loud hiss.  
  
Startled, the foot repulsors stop and they both fall to the floor with a crash.  
  
Steve is first to get up and he leaps on top of Iron Man, using his arms to pin his robot head against the floor.  
  
Except it’s not just Iron Man anymore.  
  
He must’ve hit an emergency lever or something, because it’s a normal man’s face that looks up at him, with a scruffy goatee and big dark eyes with a bleeding gash on his forehead. Steve vividly, and then guiltily, hopes he was the one who caused that gash; it would be nice to know he’d done some damage.  
  
Suddenly, Tony Stark is a lot harder to kill than Iron Man.  
  
Steve hears a high-pitched whine to his side. He looks to the sound and he sees the blue circle flicker and the metal fingers curl around it. He tenses, for the show must go on, and lets his body go slack.  
  
He looks back. The faceplate has clamped back down and the human face is gone. He locks gaze with the robotic faceplate.  
  
He doesn’t give any sign that he’s given up. But he knows, he knows, that Iron Man understands, or at least is trying to, even though he can’t see past the blue lights and the shiny gold anymore.  
  
As the bright beam fires, Steve almost feels glad.  
  
He wakes up in another cell – but this one has a pillow, and toilet roll, and a little blue toothbrush. Toothpaste is apparently a luxury he hasn’t yet earned. He stretches – muscles tense, sure, how could they not be, but overall, not too bad.  
  
He stands up straight, and looks directly at the flashing red light in the corner. He doesn’t move until a key rattles in the cell door and the concrete swings open with a creak.  
  
“That was an impressive fight.” A German accent drawls from the doorway and Steve tenses before remembering that a German accent doesn’t always equate to a bad guy anymore. He’s covered by a purple mask made of fabric and he wears a gold crown and he stands like he’s won a war.  
  
Steve stays silent.  
  
“My name is Zemo,” he says, flanked by two big burly men. “I heard you were up for sale.”  
  
Steve nods curtly.  
  
“What’s your price?”  
  
“A uniform and a mission, sir.”  
  
Underneath that purple hood, Steve swears he can almost see Zemo’s smile.  
  
Zemo shows him to where Steve will be sleeping, and explains on the way that Steve is currently twenty miles under water, inside one of the best submarines in the world, designed by his personal engineers. Eventually, they reach a small room which is labelled Rogers.  
  
The label looks like it has been replaced a number of times.  
  
As Zemo tells him when canteen hours are and where the transport pods are, Steve can’t help but think this is awfully like the prison he just escaped from.  
  
There’s a mirror in his room; Steve examines himself in it. His hair is growing out again – but he’ll be able to find a razor to crop it back, he’s sure. He notices the shiny badge on his chest, and he pulls it up towards his face. He recognises the triangle of symbols, with the Z in the middle. He pushes it away again.  
  
His first assignment is a simple procedure – shake up a few feathers, cause a bit of destruction, send a message.  
  
Under his command, he gets two piles of muscle who say their names are John and Derek but since Steve can’t tell the difference, he just points at the one he wants and shouts an instruction. He also gets the brains behind the operation, a tiny man called Timmy who wants to be known as the Mole Man before Steve points out that’s sort of already been taken.  
  
Zemo tells him in the briefing that any collateral victims caught in the crossfire won’t reflect badly on Steve’s record; Steve takes this as an encouragement, but he tries not to see it that way.  
  
Steve goes in first, with a machine gun, and starts shooting at the ceiling of the charity ball. Some of the city’s most rich and famous and famous are there, drinking wine while they share in their hypocrisy of giving to the poor.  
  
“Everybody down on the floor!” He yells through his mask, the colour of his uniform with protective goggles and a filter mask. He fires the machine again just to prove the necessity.  
  
Everyone gets down on the floor. Steve gives the signal for John and Derek to come in as well, also bearing impressive firearms. Once the rich kids are collected safely in between the three of them, Steve calls for Timmy to come in and start hacking their credit cards and debit cards and whatever new-fangled technology they have to store their money.  
  
About half an hour later, Timmy’s almost done. But then a loud voice sounds from the front door. “This is the NYPD. Surrender now.”  
  
Steve whirls around and sure enough, about seven policemen appear on the other side of the glass wall. He quickly calculates the odds and then, with a theatrical sigh, he raises his arms in surrender. He doesn’t let go of the gun’s trigger, though.  
  
Half of the agents relax visibly – the others, presumable jaded enough to know better, keep their guard up.  
  
Steve calls out. “We’re at a stalemate, ladies and gentlemen.” The police don’t move – neither do the hostages – proving his statement correct. “Here’s my proposition.”  
  
“We don’t negotiate with criminals.” One officer– a woman, judging by the build – snaps before he can finish.  
  
He smiles gently. “Of course not. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want New York’s finest to be killed in the crossfire when it could’ve all been avoided so easily. Derek!” He calls, keeping his eyes on the agents.  
  
“Yeah, Rogers?” The gruff voice calls.  
  
“Come here.” Steve beckons and Derek coerce. “You too, John.”  
  
They flank him now, and the agents tense.  
  
“You two will be our compromise. To show we mean no harm.” They both look at him, but Steve only nods encouragingly, the fake smile plastered on his face. “Go on then.”  
  
Confused, they follow his orders, and walk slowly towards the agents, who instinctively turn their guns to the two. Steve takes his chance and whips out an explosive from his belt. He throws it between Derek and John, where it smashes through the glass and into the middle of the agents.  
  
Then, he turns away and grabs Timmy and whatever electronic device he’s using to steal the money. He pushes him forward to the back exit as he hears the explosion and the gunfire that follows. “Go!” Timmy doesn’t look back as he runs through the door and to the pre-destined meeting place.  
  
Then, using his gun, Steve shoots a bullet hole Z at the wall.  
  
The second mission doesn’t go quite so well – in the middle of robbing a nondescript bank, the X-Men show up and Steve is nearly beheaded by Cyclops. Steve manages to escape (his team-mates aren’t so lucky) and expects a fierce punishment when he reports back to Zemo.  
  
But surprisingly, Zemo isn’t angry. He simply claps Steve on the shoulder and says, “We are making sure they hear the message.” Steve clearly looks surprised at the complacency, for Zemo continues. “You must see each battle as a victory, Rogers. I do, because I am an optimist.”  
  
Steve privately thinks a better word would be crazy, but he just nods and pretends to understand Zemo’s train of thought.  
  
The third and the fourth and the fifth missions pass, and by the sixth, Steve’s face is featured on the eight ‘o clock news.  
  
He spends his nights dreaming in bright colours and black outlines, and wakes up wishing it were that easy.  
  
The tenth assignment is on-base, Steve is informed. He follows Zemo into the deepest part of the submarine, and Zemo simply opens a door, and then another, and Steve follows his arm into a steel room. It's rusty and there are blood marks on the floor. Then Steve sees what's in the middle of the room.  
  
She's tied to a chair, and her blonde hair tumbles over her black mask. If her costume wasn't instantly recognizable, Steve doesn't think he'd be able to identify Ms. Marvel, her face is so bruised and damaged. There’s impressive swelling around her right cheekbone, and her mask is torn above the left eye, the fabric peeling away from her clammy skin.  
  
He keeps his expression impassive, because he knows what Zemo expects him to do and he really doesn't want to do it. He nods though, and Zemo looks satisfied, since he shuts the door behind him.  
  
She looks up defiantly. "I won't tell you anything, you hear me?"  
  
He doesn't say anything. He walks over to the small flickering green light in the top corner of the room, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. He flings it over the small camera.  
  
Steve turns back to her. She looks at him with a bloody lip. "Bring it, big boy."  
  
Steve shakes his head, and puts a finger on his lips and then points back at the camera. She frowns, but thankfully stays silent. He slaps his hand sharply, and then pulls at her chair so it scrapes loudly on the metal floor. She clues on to what he’s doing straightaway, and grunts loudly enough for the speakers to hear.  
  
Then, sound effects completed, he reaches around and unties the knots holding her to the chair. As soon as her wrists are free, she stands, her fists ready to fight.  
  
He tries not to roll his eyes - being helpful is obviously overrated. He motions from her to him, finishing the gesture with another finger on his lips. She nods, and the last thing he sees is a blast of photons and light.  
  
He wakes up much later - Zemo is standing above him with his hands on his hips. "I must say, I was hoping for a little bit more information."  
  
Steve sits up and rubs his head for good measure. "Sorry, sir."  
  
"No matter," Zemo offers his hand. "There'll be a next time."  
  
Steve fights the urge to protest vehemently. "I don't think I'm cut out for interrogation, sir."  
  
Zemo tilts his head to the side. "No?"  
  
"Sorry, sir."  
  
"Fine." Zemo doesn't press the matter.  
  
Steve has a nightmare that night – this time, he’s the one in the interrogation chair.  
  
Three months of assignments and missions and tasks and Steve still can’t feel quite comfortable under Zemo’s control.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Rogers!” Zemo seems pleased. Steve walks closer and sees that Zemo is clutching a piece of paper in his hands. Steve recognizes it as the prize of his fourteenth assignment. “I’ve finally found it.”  
  
“Found what, sir?” Steve asks, though he already has an idea.  
  
“The perfect weapon against the Avengers,” Zemo’s whole body language is brimming with anticipation and glee. Steve can’t help but be worried. “Follow me, Rogers.”  
  
And so Steve does, through one corridor after the next while Zemo talks.  
  
“You’re the only one I could trust with this, Rogers. Only two months and you’ve proven yourself above anyone else I’ve ever employed. And you don’t cost a thing!” Zemo seems to think this the best part. “You’re my lieutenant. And you’re going to be by my side when I take down the Avengers.”  
  
“Why the Avengers, sir?”  
  
Zemo looks at him; it’s hard to tell because of the mask, but Steve could swear he’s grinning. “Because the Avengers are the public.” At Steve’s confused eyebrow crease, Zemo continued. “As much as the people hate the mutants, or the Fantastic Four, or Alpha Flight, or whatever new team crops up, the Avengers will always be the last hope. And this is why they must be destroyed first.”  
  
Steve nods, though an uneasy feeling is settling in his stomach. “It makes sense, sir.”  
  
“That it does, Rogers. That it does.”  
  
Zemo stops in front of a door – he types quick numbers into a keypad and then produces a tiny blade from his pocket. With one fast swipe, he slices the pad of his thumb and hold the weeping wound above a tiny sensor Steve hadn’t noticed before.  
  
With a beep and a green flash of the light, the door swings open by electronic command. Zemo steps inside and a curious Steve can only follow him.  
  
“I know about your origins, Rogers,” Zemo says confidently. Steve fights to control his breathing and his features stable. “I know what they injected you with. And I know that it turns lesser men into monsters.”  
  
Steve can imagine what’s coming next – the accusation of being a spy, the implications that he must be a good guy if the serum worked in his favour. He prepares to either fight or fly.  
  
“This is why I trust you so much.” Zemo says. Steve can’t help but frown, but luckily Zemo is turning away from him, so he can’t see that change in Steve’s expression. “Because it proves that this mission is for the greater good.”  
  
Steve breathes a silent sigh of relief – for once, he is glad of Zemo’s deluded illusions and ideals.  
  
“And so this is why I trust I can show this to you.” Zemo flicked a switch and a spotlight flickered and then steadied. It revealed, from the darkness, a large metal box, rectangular and a few feet long.  
  
Zemo unclasps the catches holding it closed and flip the lid open.  
  
For all the anticipation, Steve has to admit he’s not that impressed.  
  
It’s just a miniature missile launcher, really. A bazooka, maybe.  
  
Zemo picks it up with the greatest care Steve has ever seen him treat an object with before. He gazes upon it with admiration.  
  
Steve clears his throat.  
  
"This took me three years to find. I had to kill seventeen people and defeat three supposedly-mythical creatures. I had to travel to another realm." Zemo put it back down in the box. "And now, I just need to right energy source to power it."  
  
"...I'm guessing it doesn't take batteries."  
  
Zemo turns to Steve. "It requires a type of battery, I suppose. A very delicate, powerful and magical battery."  
  
"Magical?" Steve gapes.  
  
"Yes. And I even know where you're going to find it."  
  
Steve creeps across the rooftops, until, according to his portable GPS , he is on top of the right one. Hammer Industries.  
  
He scales over the side using grappling hooks and sturdy rope until he counts the fifth floor. With one swing, he kicks the window and launches into the room along with the broken glass. He rolls with the momentum and eventually stops still in a crouching position.  
  
He tenses, waiting for the alarm. But true to his word, Timmy has managed to disable the alarms and the cameras - but only for an hour. Steve now has to be quick. His backpack slung across his shoulders, he creeps through the rooms.  
  
Most of them are workshops and laboratories, with delicate instruments that Steve has to be careful to avoid with his bulky shoulders and swinging arms. He makes it to the main hallway, and, once again using the navigator on his wrist, crept to the right room.  
  
Even if he hadn't been told the room number, he would've probably been able to guess. It is locked, with various symbols warning any intruders of their imminent death if they dare to venture inside. He begins to pick one of the three manual locks, leaving the electronic keypad for last.  
  
He is halfway through unlocking the second when a robotic cough sounds from his right.  
  
He snaps into attack mode and whirls around to see - is he really surprised? - Iron Man. He’s hovering a foot off the ground, which makes Steve highly suspect he is only doing it to show off.  
  
“You’re breaking into Hammer Industries?” Iron Man makes a tutting sound. “I’m not sure whether to be grateful or offended.”  
  
“If you’re relieved, will you let me get on with it?” Steve replies cheekily, and is immediately surprised at himself.  
  
He laughs. “That’s not how this works, you know.”  
  
Steve realises that with his face blacked out for camouflage and his hair more grown out, Iron Man doesn’t recognise Steve. And why should he? He probably deals with three villains a day.  
  
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Steve finds himself asking. The clock is ticking down, but still he participates in this unnecessary pre-battle charade. “Isn’t Hammer your sworn enemy?”  
  
“Blondie, if I counted all my sworn enemies, that make a very long list.”  
  
Steve doesn’t react to the nickname. He refuses to.  
  
“But just for your enlightenment, I should inform you that whatever techie you hired to take down the security system, they missed out my hidden camera system.”  
  
“You have a hidden camera system... In someone else’s factory?” Steve frowns. “I’m not understanding the logic.”  
  
Iron Man shrugs. “Just to make sure Hammer’s not trying to build an Iron Man copy again... It ended so poorly last time he tried.”  
  
“Oh?” Steve slowly reaches for the photon gun in his hip holster.  
  
He can’t tell whether Iron Man notices or not because of that damn faceplate. He’s a twitch away from pulling it out and firing a blast at that glowing chest plate, but then Iron Man speaks.  
  
“Is your boss listening?”  
  
Steve freezes as he realises that Iron Man obviously does recognise him. Then he remembers a question has been asked and he shakes his head. “No.”  
  
The gold head nods. “You know Carol told me what you did.”  
  
“Carol?” Steve repeats.  
  
“You probably know her as Ms. Marvel.”  
  
For some reason, Steve finds himself blushing in embarrassment – hopefully the black paint and the dim lighting hide it.  
  
"It made me wonder whose side you really want to be on."  
  
Whatever complacency Steve was feeling before, it was gone. His hand snaps for the gun and it's straight out in front of him in a split-second.  
  
Unfortunately, Iron Man has obviously had the same idea, and his palm repulsor is stretched out a foot from Steve's nose.  
  
"Don't do this." Iron Man says in one last plea. "Come with me."  
  
Steve closes his eyes and drops his head in pretending shame. He waits until he can hear the repulsor's whine fade. He pulls the trigger with only a hint of regret.  
  
Steve has never had an interest in science, or mechanics, or any kind of subject which would explain why the photons send the suit into shut down mode. But it does, and that's all that matters. He steps over the Iron Man's fallen form, and continues to pick the locks. Finally, he enters the number password and the door hisses open.  
  
There's no doubt as to what he's supposed to be stealing.  
  
It's a small tube that glows all kinds of colours. If Steve had a warmer heart, he could easily watch the strange light all day, mystified. But he doesn't, so he marches forward and drops the backpack from his shoulders. Using the special forceps he had been issued with earlier, he places the tube - more of a cylinder, really - into the pre-prepared casing.  
  
He zips the backpack back up and hoists it onto his shoulder. He chances one more look back at Iron Man. Then he sees the eye slits flicker back to light, and he's gone, out of the window and onto the streets below.  
  
Zemo is beside himself when Steve returns, grimy and sweaty since he decided to run all the way back to the boarding area on shore.  
  
“Finally!” He cries, holding the case that contains the mystery tube aloft. “Finally, we can begin.”  
  
Steve actually wants to sleep for a bit before they begin anything, but he keeps his mouth shut and his expression impassive. “When?” He asks.  
  
“We will leave at ten hundred hours, Rogers.” Zemo says with a wicked excitement in his voice. “Be ready.”  
  
So because he doesn’t know how to be ready for an unknown task, Steve goes to sleep. His dreams involve a dash of red and gold on top of the black and the white and the blood.  
  
At ten hundred hours, Zemo climbs into a transport pod, and orders Steve to drive it while Zemo calibrates the magic battery thing and the big bazooka thing. Steve can’t help but think he should know more about what their entire mission depends on.  
  
“The destination is already programmed into the pod,” Zemo tells him. “You just need to stop it from bumping into any sharks.”  
  
But luckily, the sharks all seem to be too afraid of the speeding pod to even give it a second thought, never mind get in its way. Steve chances a long at the coordinates programmed into the navigation a few hours into the journey.  
  
“New York?” He asks in surprise. “Surely that’s a bit high-profile?”  
  
“It’s where the Avengers are based.” Zemo’s tone turns defensive and waspish. “Were you not listening to the plan?”  
  
“Of course,” Steve says carefully. “Sorry, I forgot. That’s all.”  
  
Using the windscreen’s reflection, Steve watches Zemo nod in approval and then turn back to the miniature cannon.  
  
“So what is that?” Before Zemo can misinterpret this as more impudence, Steve adds, “I mean, does it have a name?”  
  
“It used to be called a Rachtor, but after today,” Zemo looked down at it. “It will be known as the Zemo-Zooka.”  
  
Well, Steve had to give him props for creativity.  
  
“Is there any back up?” Steve suddenly asks – he can’t remember any others getting into the other available pods.  
  
“We won’t need back up.” Zemo says confidently. “I just need you to guard me and the Zemo-Zooka, and we will take care of the rest.”  
  
Zemo-Zooka or not, the plan doesn’t exactly fill Steve with confidence. But he keeps his mouth shut and just a hour later, the navigator is beeping that they’re close to their destination.  
  
Steve begins to drive the pod up a secluded part of the coastline, but then Zemo stops him with an unsettling clamp on his shoulder.  
  
“Oh no, Rogers,” he points to a switch on the dashboard. “It can fly.”  
  
And so it does; shooting out of the water like a torpedo and then settling into a comfortable path, horizontal above the city.  
  
A crackle comes through on the radio. “Unauthorised airspace... Please state intentions... Aircraft information...” The speech is interspersed with poor connection fuzz.  
  
But then Zemo reaches forward and holds down a button underneath the radio speaker. “We are here to conquer your city and then your world!”  
  
Steve really doesn’t think he has enough self-preservation for the both of them.  
  
It’s a relief when the pod survives to start spiraling down in a controlled descent, instead of being shot out of the sky by SHIELD. He can hear muffled screams as they land on the pavement – luckily not on top of anyone.  
  
The glass ceiling snaps open and Zemo stands proudly. He brandishes the Zemo-Zooka and proclaims, “Where are your famous Avengers?”  
  
With not much else of a choice, Steve jumps out and prepares for a fight as the people start running away as fast as they can. He keeps a photo gun on his left and a normal pistol on his right – with crossing arms, he pulls them both out and slides the safety catch off both.  
  
Zemo speaks quickly to Steve, pointing to an average-looking building opposite of where they’ve landed. “In there,” he commands. “Is the only weapon that could possibly hinder the Zemo-Zooka. Strength versus weakness. Once we have defeated the Avengers, we will take it and destroy it.”  
  
Steve nods. “Yes, sir,” he says, if only to indulge Zemo’s already-dangerous fantasies. Then he watches the skies for any sign of the Avengers.  
  
But the Avengers are a no show for the first ten minutes.  
  
Steve watches warily as Zemo grows more and more impatient.  
  
“Fine,” he says after eight minutes of waiting more than he’d been expecting. “We’ll have to get their attention another way.”  
  
So he pulls out another gun from his holster – it looks like just a normal pistol – and he aims it at the clueless taxi driving in their direction.  
  
Steve’s jaw tightens as Zemo pulls the trigger and a bolt of electricity fires from the barrel. It hits the car just above the license plate and the force alone catapults the car onto its roof, crumpling on the road. Steve dreads to think what the high-voltage charge is doing to the passengers inside.  
  
Zemo twists the barrel ninety degrees to the left, and fires at another car. This time, the pistol fires a jagged line of flame, and the owner has just enough time to leap out of her car before the whole thing ignites into an inferno.  
  
Zemo twists the gun again, and this time, a random vehicle suffers from a jet of ice, which freezes the entire car and locks the people inside.  
  
Again and again, he fires the gun until the street is lined with screams and fire and ice and littered cars.  
  
But then the school bus rounds the corner.  
  
Zemo turns to it slowly. He puts his gun away.  
  
Steve is wonderfully surprised and utterly relieved, until Zemo hoists the Zemo-Zooka back into his hands.  
  
The bright yellow bus, in an attempt to avoid the oncoming disster, twists, but ends up sliding sideways on the spilt oil from some other car.  
  
As it skids towards them, Steve acts instinctively and jumps down in front of it.  
  
He braces himself and as the bus comes closer and closer, he holds his hands out flat. They collide together, and while the bus is strong, Steve is stronger. The metal crumples a bit from where his hands meet it, but it stops all the same.  
  
From inside the bus, he can hear the children’s shrieking.  
  
He turns back to Zemo.  
  
Zemo cocks his head to the side – the cannon in his hands doesn’t falter. “What’s the problem, Rogers?” Standing on a car’s roof, he seems even more megalomaniac than usual.  
  
“They’re...” Steve falters lamely. “They’re just kids.”  
  
The screaming in the bus fades and Steve feels their absorbed gaze on his neck. He doesn’t move – as if that could calm Zemo.  
  
“You misunderstand me, Rogers.” He snaps the cannon skywards and before Steve can even flinch, he presses the trigger into the sky.  
  
At first, Steve is confused. There’s no way the missile is designed for mass destruction – choosing a random target from the sky seems reckless, even for Zemo.  
  
But then Steve sees the red and gold blur in the sky just in time to see it collide with the bright gold beam.  
  
“No!” Steve whirls round, back to Zemo. He tries to ignore the sound of the explosion, the ringing a second late.  
  
“Would you have preferred the children?” Zemo isn’t a man of many words, but the ones he does say are cold and calculated.  
  
So of course Steve can’t say anything to that and with one well-placed kick, he sends the school bus spinning towards the newly-arrived and waiting police cars.  
  
Then he turns back to Zemo. “So what-”  
  
For a second, Steve thinks Zemo is shaking from laughter. But then he sees the lightning coming from the sky and poking Zemo in the chest.  
  
He whirls around, and yes, finally, here come the Avengers.  
  
He rolls out of the way of an explosive arrow from Hawkeye, roosting on the roof of a building to the right. A poison dart zips past his ear and he spots Black Widow, her red hair rolling as she somersaults over a broken taxi.  
  
Thor is slowly pacing down from the sky, his hammer by his side and his cape flowing dramatically in the wind he summoned.  
  
And then the Hulk, green bulk of rage, comes storming through the cars that Black Widow so nimbly avoided – he sends them into lampposts and Steve wonders vaguely whether the damage caused is really worth Hulk’s victories.  
  
He stops a few feet away, his massive feet skidding in the road and kicking up a scatter of dust. He growls at Steve, and Steve braces himself.  
  
But then Zemo gets up again, and his movements are jagged, distorted and wild. Steve imagines being electrocuted by a Norse god will do that to you. He wields the strange-looking cannon earnestly, and points it straight at the Hulk. “Want to do an experiment, doctor?” Zemo goads.  
  
The Hulk roars and leaps at Zemo.  
  
Steve prepares to run – once Zemo’s been literally flattened, there’s no way he can take on the Hulk, never mind all of the Avengers.  
  
But the cannon fires – a jet of bright green this time – and it lands squarely in the middle of the Hulk’s chest.  
  
Steve watches – a mixture of terror and victory – as the Hulk shrinks and shrinks until all that’s left is a small, weedy man with too-big shorts and a horrified look on his face.  
  
Now, Zemo actually is shaking with laughter. The rest of the Avengers suddenly don’t look too sure of themselves now.  
  
But then Thor lifts Mjolnir into the air and booms, “Avengers assemble!” He runs towards Zemo, the hammer spinning around in his hand faster and faster with each spin until it’s a grey blur.  
  
Zemo doesn’t even flinch. He lifts the cannon a third time and a bright blue beam shoots out this time, sending Thor tumbling backwards.  
  
But when Thor gets up again, Mjolnir doesn’t come with him. It’s been flung a few feet away, and when Thor beckons it with his godly power, it doesn’t even twitch. It’s encased in blue force field of sorts, and when Thor tries to pick up his beloved hammer, it stops his fingers coming within a metre of the handle.  
  
Thor looks at Zemo with the most terrifying fury Steve has ever seen – he decides he never, ever, wants to take a Norse god’s hammer away from him as long as he lives.  
  
“You will pay for this, Zemo,” Thor rumbles darkly.  
  
“Oh, but,” yet again Zemo raises the cannon. Steve notices that Zemo is breathing heavily, though whether it’s from exhaustion or elation, he can’t tell. “I don’t think I will.”  
  
He pulls the trigger and this time a purple beam is ejected from the cannon – Steve watches mutely at it hits Hawkeye this time.  
  
Immediately, Hawkeye’s bow is flung away into the air, where, with a snap and a crackle, it disintegrates in front of their very eyes.  
  
Hawkeye looks utterly horrified. “You monster,” he hisses.  
  
All Steve can think is that Zemo’s managed to piss off every single one of the Avengers – in anyone’s experience, this is not a good idea.  
  
Zemo seems to realise this, but he waves the cannon at them anyway. “Stay back. That isn’t the only thing this cannon can do.”  
  
Thor advances. “I do not need Mjolnir to crush your skull.”  
  
“And if you think I only have one way to shoot you,” Hawkeye raises his arm straight, and a miniature crossbow raises and aims from his wrist.  
  
The man that used to be Hulk stands up as well. He raises his hands in a pathetic fighting stance. “Bring it, you Nazi.”  
  
“Fine,” Zemo snarls. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He pulls on a lever on the side of the barrel.  
  
Thor takes a step forward, and Hawkeye tenses his arrow. The ex-Hulk looks around for something to use as a weapon.  
  
“I have taken away your strengths,” Zemo spits. “Without them, you are nothing.”  
  
“Actually,” a familiar, robotic voice sounds from directly above him. Steve looks up and is mortified to find that he’s relieved to see the red and gold metal man. “I’d beg to differ.”  
  
Zemo looks up, clearly startled even though he has fabric to mask that kind of emotion. “I destroyed you.”  
  
“You think I only have one suit?” Iron Man shakes his head. “Please.”  
  
Zemo raises the cannon. “I can destroy every one you have.”  
  
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Iron Man holds his palm straight, and the light there brightens.  
  
In one last act at recovering his dignity, Zemo finally remembers Steve is still there. "Rogers!" He commands. "Do something."  
  
Zemo isn't the only one looking at him expectantly, Steve realizes, but he tries to keep his gaze from drifting up past Zemo to the hero hovering above. "Sure."  
  
There’s an awful moment of silence where nobody moves.  
  
Steve knows he has to act fast, whatever he does. So fast he is - in a split second, he punches the side of the car Zemo is standing on. Just as he predicted, Zemo loses his balance and falls as the car spins away, just as a reflexive arrow from Hawkeye zooms over where his head would have been. Steve catches Zemo and steadies him with one arm, catching the Zemo-Zooka with the other hand.  
  
"When I said there wasn't back-up..." Zemo hisses to Steve. "I lied." He presses a button on his belt, and immediately, ten pods come flying over the city skyline. Steve gulps.  
  
Iron Man starts calling out instructions. "Bruce, can you Hulk back?"  
  
The ex-Hulk shakes his head sorrowfully.  
  
"Okay, get out of the way and see if you can contact anyone in the area. Thor!" The blond looks up.  
  
"Can I kill the purple Nazi?" Thor asks testily.  
  
"Go for it." Iron Man's robotic voice sounds sadistically satisfied. Thor lunges for Zemo, who darts out of Steve's help and behind a car. Steve dodges the furious god, who luckily doesn't seem to notice him, too preoccupied with blind rage for the one who took his beloved hammer away.  
  
"I've got the muscle man." Steve looks back to see Hawkeye has produced a cross bow from somewhere, and the arrow is aimed directly between Steve's eyes. Steve freezes.  
  
"No, you and Natasha take care of the pods." Iron Man directs. "Me and Blondie are going to find a way to take down Zemo and that cannon." Steve looks at his hands and realises that when Zemo had gone scampering away from Thor's rage, he had taken the cannon with him.  
  
Hawkeye and Black Widow both have a sceptical expression on their faces, but they follow Iron Man's orders with only one muttered curse from Hawkeye.  
  
Steve turns to Iron Man. "I thought we were on different sides."  
  
The face plate opens and it's Tony Stark looking at him now. "You sure about that?"  
  
But then Steve sees an advancing pod from behind Tony, and he yells out a warning as a blast comes from a hole in the hull. Instinctively, Steve jumps at Iron Man and yanks on his floating foot. The blast flies over head as they both crash to the floor.  
  
"Thanks," Tony says, already getting up. He doesn't even need to sit up before holding his hand flat and blasting the pod back. "But I have a question."  
  
Steve grabs a discarded car door and holds it in front of him as another pod shoots another blast. In the distance, he can see Black Widow jumping on top of one and punching down, straight through the glass roof. Hawkeye is firing explosive arrows at a rapid rate, but more and more pods keep arriving, more than Steve ever thought there were.  
  
"Shoot." Steve says, but then amends hastily. "Not literally. Wait, actually-" He points at an advancing pod and a tiny missile flies from Tony's shoulder.  
  
"Why is Zemo here?" Tony’s tone turns more urgent.  
  
"He wants to get rid of you," Steve said, twirling the make-shift shield around to deflect another blast. "He thinks you're the biggest threat to whatever plan he has next."  
  
"That's strangely flattering," Tony replies with a smirk. "But why is he here? This street? Why doesn’t he just come to Avenger’s Mansion?"  
  
Steve frowns, and then remembers. He points to the building across the street, the same one Zemo had indicated earlier. "In there. Something about it being the only thing that could defeat the Zemo-Zooka."  
  
"Right." Then Tony pauses. "Zemo-Zooka?"  
  
Steve rolls his eyes. "He's original."  
  
Steve suddenly realizes that he really shouldn't be bantering with the enemy in such a friendly manner, and then he realises that this is the second time it has happened.  
  
Tony seems to realise the same thing, and he grins.  
  
“Thanks, Blondie.” The faceplate snaps back down. “Want to come with?” Iron Man stands up and holds out his metal hand.  
  
Steve ignores it, standing up of his own accord. “Let’s do this.”  
  
The building itself is a jewellers, which Steve thinks is a pretty strange place to be hiding an immensely powerful weapon. They run in and the owner jumps up from behind the counter, wielding a huge shotgun. He aims it at Steve, and then Iron Man, and then Steve again. He obviously can't decide whether Steve is a good guy or Iron Man is a bad guy.  
  
Iron Man holds his hands up. "We're trying to stop this. Promise. But maybe you can help us."  
  
The man narrows his eyes. "What do you want?"  
  
"Does a Rachtor sound familiar to you?" Steve asks, suddenly remembering the original name of the device. The man frowns, and shakes his head.  
  
Iron Man looks around. "JARVIS, have a look. Does any of this look particularly Rachtor-defeating?"  
  
Steve frowns, and looks around. The owner looks just as confused as Steve, so Steve presumes he's not called Jarvis either. He's about to ask when Iron Man exclaims in triumph.  
  
He walks over to the counter, and taps at the glass cabinet underneath. "How much is that one?"  
  
The owner looks to wear the metal finger is pointing. "The Freescha? Twenty two thousand."  
  
Steve's eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything. Hopefully, Iron Man knows what he's doing.  
  
"Great, I'll take it." Iron Man says. "My assistant will send you the money at some point in the next twenty four hours."  
  
The owner stiffens. "I'm afraid we'll need a deposit at the very least."  
  
Iron Man simply raises his hand, and the whine suggests his repulsor is charging up again. "Really?"  
  
The owner hurriedly reaches underneath the counter and nearly throws the multi-coloured jewel at iron Man's chest. "Take it and leave please."  
  
If Zemo thinks the Avengers are the best-loved superhero team around, Steve can only wonder how the X-Men are treated.  
  
"How did you know it was that one?" Steve asks as they step back out into the street. A quick look shows Hawkeye and Black Widow back to back, shooting at the surrounding pods. Various crashed pods already line the street, along with quite a few unconscious people wearing the same uniform as Steve.  
  
"This is no time to go tiara shopping, Stark!" Hawkeye yells as he throws his crossbow to the ground - obviously out of arrows - and favours a pistol instead.  
  
"I'm about to save your ass, Barton, so shut up!" Iron Man snaps back. In the sky, Steve can see a fast-moving blur that looks suspiciously like Ms. Marvel blasting light in all directions. Iron Man to Steve. "JARVIS found an interesting energy signature - one very similar to the one that cannon is using."  
  
Iron Man holds up his hand and shoots a beam at the quickly-dwindling numbers of the pods. In fact, between Ms Marvel in the air and the rest of the Avengers on the ground, there's only a few left.  
  
Steve picks up a discarded blaster and starts pulling the trigger at whatever pods get in his line of sight. Within a few moments, though it feels much longer, the battle is over, and Zemo is nowhere to seen. Though Iron man has been clutching it expectantly, the jewel is yet to be of use.  
  
The SHIELD Helicarrier looms above as agents start coming down to clear up the mess, and Ms Marvel lands next to Tony, who has once again taken off his faceplate.  
  
“You?” She says harshly, looking straight at Steve. He looks uncomfortably away. She turns to Tony. “SHIELD never mentioned anything about an infiltration of Zemo’s forces.”  
  
“He’s not a SHIELD agent, Carol.” Tony says. Steve desperately wants to get away, but he doesn’t know where Zemo is and he doesn’t trust the suspicious SHIELD agents to just let him go if he asks nicely.  
  
“So he just decided to grow a conscience?” Ms Marvel looks very sceptical and Steve doesn’t blame her. He’s sceptical of himself right now.  
  
Black Widow – apparently her name is Natasha – has gone to find the ex-Hulk. Hawkeye starts complaining about his destroyed bow.  
  
Tony rolls his eyes. “I’ll make you a new one, Barton, if you just shut up.”  
  
Hawkeye’s face brightens considerable. “With lasers?”  
  
Tony sighs. “Fine.”  
  
“Score!” Hawkeye crows in triumph.  
  
Steve subconsciously touches the photon gun in his holster, the beginnings of an escape plan in his mind.  
  
Tony frowns. “Hang on, incoming call.” His faceplate is back in place suddenly, and he’s still for a moment while they look at him. Then his face is back again. “That was Thor,” he looks at Ms Marvel and Hawkeye. “Zemo’s gone – no idea where.”  
  
Ms Marvel huffs, and sends another suspicious glance in Steve’s direction. He looks at the ground, and that look seals the deal. In a heartbeat, the photon gun is out and aimed at Tony, who looks honestly surprised.  
  
But not worried.  
  
Steve doesn’t dwell on it, and his finger curls on the trigger. “You’re all going to let me go, okay?”  
  
Ms Marvel makes a scoffing noise. “Rogers, is it? It’s only going to knock out the suit for a fun minute and you’ll be unconscious before that happens. So just give it up.”  
  
Tony frowns at her. “Excuse me; being trapped in a non-responsive suit is not fun.”  
  
She ignores him, and keeps a steady gaze on Steve.  
  
Steve’s jaw tightens, and then his other hand pulls out a tiny pistol he had been saving for emergencies. “Let’s see what happens when photons, electricity, and a certain arc reactor mix, shall we?”  
  
Ms Marvel’s eyes narrow. “You just helped defeat your boss – why are you doing this?”  
  
“Self preservation.” Steve says coldly. “Let me go, or we’re going to start the experiment.”  
  
“Oh, really?” Steve freezes as he feels the cold tip of a gun’s barrel pressed against his head and Black Widow’s sweet breath on his neck.  
  
He grits his teeth, a split-second’s decision, and drops the two guns onto the floor. “I thought Avengers had a no-kill policy.”  
  
“Depends on how we’re feeling on the day,” she replies smoothly.  
  
The barrel lifts away from his head and he decides to take his chance. He spins around and has the gun on the floor before anyone can blink.  
  
But then he sees the big green guy grinning down at him from behind Black Widow, and he decides to just let the SHIELD agents arrest him.

  


\---  
“You have a visitor, Rogers,” Hamilton sounds irritated, and Steve can imagine why. “Here you go, Stark.”  
  
Steve doesn’t look up – he can tell its Tony by the sound of Italian leather squeaking on the floor with each footstep. He picks at a cut on his hand, sitting on the edge of his bed. He doesn’t get a cell mate this time – thank God for small miracles.  
  
“Hey, Blondie.” Steve looks up instinctively, and then wishes he hadn’t.  
  
Tony leans against the bars, looking away from him. Steve doesn’t bother going for his exposed throat, even though he sort of wants to for some inane reason – some things just aren’t challenging enough.  
  
“You know, I used to have this massive problem with alcohol.” Tony says abruptly. “And daddy issues as well, as I’m sure you figured out.”  
  
“Your fifty minutes are up, I’m afraid,” Steve replies.  
  
“Right.” Steve sort of thinks Tony is smirking, but he can’t be sure. “All I’m saying is that it’s not too late. You know, to change.”  
  
Then Steve decides that, you know what, it doesn’t matter how productive it would be, he’s going to wring Stark’s neck until it pops off like champagne cork. But just as he lunges, Stark pushes away and salutes him as he walks away.  
  
“I read your file,” he calls back, sauntering further and further from Steve’s grasp. “Shame you’re not fighting on our side anymore, soldier.”  
  
Steve punches the wall; reinforced concrete with a Kevlar coating and still it crumples underneath his fist. He looks back and his gaze catches on a small black package thrown carelessly onto his cell floor – since he knows it was there ten minutes ago, it’s not difficult to figure out who threw it.  
  
He picks it up and undoes the string holding it together. Out onto his palm falls a small jewel that glows a thousand different colours in the light.  
  
Steve gulps, makes a quick decision, and stuffs it into his pillowcase.  
  
Whatever God Steve was praying to before, he is cursing by the afternoon.  
  
In the canteen, there’s a small television propped up in the corner, continually showing news channels.  
  
When Steve walks in for his evening meal – flanked by two nervous-looking guards – a news reporter is informing the room of how the Avengers heroically stopped an attack by the evil Baron Zemo and Steve Rogers.  
  
And then Steve suddenly feels sick when the reporter starts telling the whole country about how Steve used to be a hero – how in the Second World War, he saved Americans and helped to defeat the Nazis.  
  
Steve immediately turns and punches one of the guards in the stomach. He could’ve punched straight through his torso if he wanted to, but he’ll only leave bruising. However, the goal is achieved – he’s electrocuted and taken to solitary confinement.  
  
In solitary confinement, they don’t have televisions or news reporters or painful reminders.  
  
After a few days by himself, the warden decides he’s lucky enough to go back to the canteen for breakfast, and this time Steve is flanked by three guards.  
  
Steve grits his teeth against the stare of the other inmates, and walks with his tray to the nearest empty table. A few moments into his dessert, three other trays clatter onto the table He chews slowly and waits.  
  
“We heard Stark came to see you.” One voice says. Steve looks around, but most of the guards are either gambling on another table or on the other side of the room.  
  
“What do you want?” He growls. He looks up and vaguely recognises the middle one as the kid who got his ass handed to him by Doctor Strange a few years ago. Except he’s not a kid anymore, with tired wild eyes and a scruffy beard.  
  
Steve doesn’t recognise the other two, and assumes they’re the usual henchmen that every little but ambitious squirt needs.  
  
The middle one speaks again: “We hear that Stark’s not the only one who wants to see you.”  
  
Steve keeps his face calm. “I’m always available for visitors.”  
  
The conversation in the canteen is why Steve isn’t surprised at all when five masked individuals wearing dark green uniform come into his room that night and put a drug-covered sack over his head.  
  
He stays limp, even though of course the drug doesn’t work - didn’t they do their research? – and lets himself be dragged out of the prison and back onto Zemo’s submarine.  
  
The sack is pulled out of his vision and he finds himself in Zemo’s office. It’s not really an office – more a metal chamber designed for storage, but with a huge oak desk in the middle and a lion’s skin for a rug in the middle of the room. Zemo steps around the desk and stands solemnly as Steve is pushed to a kneeling position.  
  
“Zemo.” Steve bows his head, and tenses his arms in preparation to break the handcuffs holding his hands behind his back.  
  
“Oh, Rogers,” he sounds resigned and regretful. Steve holds his breath. “I am so sorry.”  
  
Steve looks up.  
  
“I should not have left you to those foul Avengers,” Zemo’s tone turns furious. “But I was chased by that disgusting Thor who thought he could simply use brute force against me.”  
  
Steve senses an opportunity and he takes it desperately. “No, I am sorry, sir.”  
  
He’s not.  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Zemo waves the matter aside. “Now, I believe you have the Zemo-Zooka’s only enemy?”  
  
Steve frowns in confusion. Then he realises that Zemo is talking about the weird jewel. And then he realises that of course Zemo would check the jewellers and would find it missing and would therefore assume Steve had it.  
  
Time to choose sides, Rogers, he tells himself.  
  
“I don’t have it,” he lies. Fortunately, he had the initiative to grab the stone just an hour or so before he was broken out of prison. Currently, it’s stuffed into a hidden pocket on the inside of his trousers. “Iron Man took it off me.”  
  
Zemo slams his fist against the desk in a whirl of rage. “Damn him!” Breathing heavily, he turns back to Steve. “We’ll need to lay low for the next month – I don’t want to risk him using it against the Zemo-Zooka.”  
  
“But how does it work, sir?” Steve tentatively asks. “How could that tiny jewel work against such an impressive weapon?”  
  
Okay, he’s laying it on a bit thick. But judging by Zemo’s preening, he doesn’t seem to mind.  
  
"I don't know exactly," Zemo admits. "But when the two come into contact, it doesn't end well."  
  
"Doesn't end well? Sir?"  
  
"Explosive consequences." Zemo clarifies.  
  
Suddenly Steve isn't so sure about his plan.


	2. The Good Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve didn't crash in the ice. But the super soldier serum slows his ageing, and he grows bitter as he watches his friends grow old and die without him. So bitter, that he leaves Captain America behind to become a criminal for hire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by the lovely Logan

That night, Steve decides to go for a wander around the submarine. He finds himself walking from one end to the other before making his decision - but then he decides to do another lap, just to check he's sure about his decision. And then he goes back to Zemo's office.

  
Zemo is still awake - Steve's luck isn't about to start now. He knocks on the door quietly and holds his breath.

"Who is it?"

"Rogers, sir." There isn't a reply, and then Steve adds, "I had an idea about defeating the Avengers, sir."

The door opens, and Zemo stands there expectantly. "Yes?"

Steve looks around to check the corridor is empty - it is, but he doesn't want to take any chances. "Can I come in, sir? I don't want weak ears hearing?"

Zemo pauses and then nods. "You're right, of course." He steps aside and Steve walks past him. There are various maps and charts thrown on the floor, and there’s a pile in the corner where a bookcase has been toppled over.

"What are these, sir?" Steve asks. He’s stalling, he knows that, but he's still not really sure what he wants to do.

"The next plan of action." Zemo replies stiffly, but doesn't explain further. He waits for Steve to talk instead.

Steve takes a tiny step closer to Zemo. "Well, sir, it goes like this."

And then, he throws a right hook at Zemo's jaw.

It catches him off guard and he stumbles with the momentum. Before Zemo can steady himself, Steve grabs hold of the fabric mask and uses it to drag Zemo to his own desk. He can feel Zemo struggling but he keeps a firm hand on his head, taking care not to press too hard for fear of actually crushing his skull. Then, quickly, before Zemo can think to raise the alarm, he slams Zemo's forehead against the desk's edge, again and again.

Zemo goes limp in his arms - Steve smashes his head against the desk once more for good measure, and then reaches for the self-indulging cloak Zemo keeps on a hook behind his desk. He uses it to tie Zemo's hand and feet together, and then rolls him over so Zemo is unconscious on his side.

Steve doesn't have much time. He rips Zemo's mask - specifically, the area with a fast growing blood stains from Zemo’s head - and holds it in his hand. The bare skin revealed is ugly and scarred but Steve doesn't have time to worry about that. He darts from Zemo's office and shuts the door quietly.

He runs to the storage, and thanks, once again, the trust Zemo once had in Steve as he finds his way to where the Zemo-Zooka is stored. He types in the numbers on the keypad and then squeezes the cloth so Zemo's blood drips onto the macabre sensor.

It works: the doors slides open and Steve darts inside.

Now he's here, he's even more hesitant about the plan. But there's only one way forward now, and he races to the Zemo-Zooka, hidden in exactly the same box used before. He lifts it out - the magic battery thing is still plugged into it. Then, with heavy breath, he pulls out the strange jewel from his chest. He slowly taps the two together, but nothing happens. Then he hears shouting outside, and his heart rate speeds up.  
Super serum or not, he doesn't have bulletproof skin.

He twists the Zemo-Zooka against the jewel, rubbing them together. And then, he thinks to hell with it, and he smashes the jewel against the exposed battery.

It works.

There's a massive explosion of light and sound and Lord-knows-what-else, and Steve is thrown across the room into the wall. He goes straight through it and is suddenly submerged in the salty sea water.

The water weighs heavily on top of him and he prays to every God he's ever heard of for letting the submarine be close to the surface. He swims upwards and the pressure lessens with each stroke.

Holding his breath isn't a problem - he's swum across the British Channel without breaking the surface before - but the guns from the submarine might be. However, they seem to be more preoccupied with the explosion and the fresh holes in the submarine walls.

His head pops back into the air and he starts swimming towards the coast.

He crawls up onto the dark hot beach. He shakes his head free of water and unclogs his ears. Then he tries to think of the best way to get to New York with foggy vision and a splitting headache.

The first village takes him about an hour to reach - by that point, his uniform has dried and because he can't stand to look at it any more, he rips off his badge, the mark of Zemo still on him, leaving a torn part of bare skin.

He looks at the road sign. "Lousiana?" He reads aloud. He sighs. He has a long way to walk.

But, within the next hour, there's a helicopter hovering above him. "Stand down, Rogers!" A megaphone-distorted voice comes from above and he looks up at the spotlight shining down on him. He raises his hands in surrender.

"I just blew up Zemo's base!" He yells at the bright white light. "Don't I get a free ride to New York?"

A high-tech, rope ladder falls down and he grabs hold to a rung and starts to climb. About halfway up, the rope starts being pulled up while he clings on, his hair being whipped around by the helicopter's blades.

He climbs on and looks up to see a familiar red-headed woman standing above him, a gun pointed at his head. "No funny business," she commands.

He nods. "Sure. That works for me." He is ordered to sit in a harness and he does so, not wanting to test the infamous aim of Black Widow.

"Tony thought you'd show up." She says a few moments into the flight. The rest of the agents in the aircraft don't show any sign of listening except one whose eyes keep darting to Steve nervously. It's always easy to spot the rookie on a mission.

Steve doesn't say anything to that.

He frowns as they pass through New York and land on an unfamiliar tower. "We're not going to SHIELD?" He asks over the noise of the helicopter landing.

"No." She's quite not the stony woman Steve had heard stories about - it throws him off a balance a bit. "You've been specially requested, and Director Fury has decided the design for a new missile system is worth it."

He doesn't ask what that means - his head still hurts, and he doesn't really need to know. With several guns trained on him, he hops out of the helicopter, followed by Black Widow. As soon as her feet touch the landing pad, it takes off again, up into the night sky. Steve turns to Black Widow, who nods curtly at the door which presumably leads downstairs. Either that or she's going to shoot him in the head as soon as there aren’t any witnesses around, but he can't really do anything about that know.

He walks down the skinny stairs and there's another door and he opens it and is greeted by warm lighting and leather seats and exotic potted plants. One of the walls is completely glass, looking out onto the city.

There's a small mini-bar in one corner, and there's a photo on one wall of some very familiar superheroes.

"Avengers Tower?" He says, trying in vain to hide his awe. He frowns. "I thought it would be more...classic."

"When you have Tony Stark funding the decor, it's difficult to argue with him." A snarky tone comes from one corner and Steve whirls to see Hawkeye perched on a bar stool.

Except it's not the Hawkeye Steve is used to, it's just a lean, muscular man in baggy sweatpants and a tight t-shirt with sandy-coloured hair.

"Hey, Nat," the man says. "Have you checked him down for bombs?"

"Clint, I think I would be able to see if he's carrying a bomb." She snaps back in exasperation. "Have you seen how tight his costume is?"

Steve blushes - but then again, of all people, Black Widow shouldn't be judging him for having a tight-fitting costume.

Though her words suggest a relaxed attitude concerning Steve, she keeps her eyes - and her gun - trained on him even as she goes to sit down on one of the expensive-looking sofas.

"Speaking of costumes," Hawkeye - Clint? - begins. "What's up with yours?"

Steve looks down at the rough hole where his loyalty to Zemo used to be attached to his costume. "Malfunction."

Clint doesn't look convinced.

"Where are the others?" Black Widow asks Clint as she shrugs off her boots.

"Tony's out doing...Something." Clearly, Clint has forgotten. "Bruce is meditating or whatever, I could hear the stupid wood-pipe CD coming from his room. And Thor is-"

He doesn't finish his sentence because just then, the god himself appears, with a large jug of something in his big hand. "Aha!" He cries. "This is the one Tony has been telling us about?"

Steve tries to keep a stony expression on his face; his immediate reaction is to run away very fast.

“What’s in the jug, Thor?” Clint asks apprehensively.

“Coffee!” Thor over pronounces the word, but no one seems to mind. “The JARVIS tells me it is a specialised brew called a latte!”

Steve frowns – what on earth is a Jarvis?

“Hey,” Clint says absent-mindedly. "Didn't Jane ban you from coffee after half-eight?"

Thor looks sheepish. "She did not mention anything about the lattes."

Black Widow (is he allowed to call her Nat?) rolls her eyes. "Well, I'm not staying up all night with you again."

Whatever Thor's response would be, it is forgotten when another man walks into the room. Steve recognises him as the ex-Hulk, only this time, he's wearing clothes that actually fit him instead of the massive, torn pants the Hulk is so fond of.

He smiles at Steve - an honest to God smile. Steve hasn't seen one of those in a while. "Is this him?"

Clint nods. "I know what you're thinking Bruce, he does look smaller than when we met earlier." Steve feels almost offended.

'Bruce' pulls a face that suggests that was _not_ what he was thinking at all, but he doesn't mention it. "Speaking of Tony - where is he?"

"Probably in some blonde's-"

"Clint." Black Widow (not Nat yet, Steve decides) warns.

He huffs. "Where-ever he is, he'd better be back soon. Hey, JARVIS?"

"Yes, Mister Barton?" A cool, English voice sounds out.

Steve reflexively jumps about a foot into the air in alarm, automatically tensing. Then he straightens bashfully when he realizes Clint is howling with laughter. Even Bruce hides a snigger behind a hand.

“Mister Stark is arriving now-” the cool British voice sounds once again, but Steve doesn’t have time to analyse where’s it’s coming from because all of a sudden, a familiar red and gold lit-up blur is flying straight towards them.

They all dive out of the way as it crashes through the glass wall, balled up and charging straight into the leather sofa Black Widow had been sitting on just a second before.

“Tony!” Clint yells. For a moment, Steve thinks that Clint is concerned, and he feels an ounce of compassion towards the archer, but then Clint continues with, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Shut up, Barton.” Iron Man croaks, and points back at the New York skyline. A small flying shape is hovering closer to the tower, and Steve peers more closely. He would really like to be mistaken, but it looks like a goblin on top of a flying contraption...

“Green Goblin?” Black Widow looks alarmed. “I thought he was Spider-Man’s.”

“Apparently he’s branching out,” Iron Man replies, picking himself up. “Watch out for the Electric bombs.”

As soon as he says it, a flurry of small spheres fly into the room and explode as soon as they hit an object. Thor even tries to swing his hammer against one, but all it does is explode it more promptly.

The Green Goblin called loudly and throws more and more explosives. Steve finds himself instinctively grabbing the coffee table – wooden and sturdy – and uses it to bat away the bombs like tennis balls.

He takes a step closer to the villain, and sees Clint producing a bow and arrow, from seemingly nowhere, out of the corner of his eye. Neither Bruce nor the Hulk are anywhere to be seen, Iron Man is shooting beams with an alarming amount of inaccuracy, and Black Widow is focusing on simply dodging the bombs. Thor is spinning Mjolnir wildly, preparing for an impressive throw, but then a nasty stinger bomb catches him straight in the face and he falls to the floor cursing in Norse.

Another explosive goes off and tiny pieces of shrapnel are projected everywhere – one slices Steve across his chin, but he barely notices.

He tenses as a cluster of small bombs spin towards him and he swings the table back. Then, with a carefully applied amount of force, he hits them back. His aim is slightly off, but it does the job - one catches the Green Goblin's hover-board-thing, and takes out whatever's keeping it up in the air.

His cackles stop, and for a split second, there's deadly silence - except for the noise of the city below - and then he drops like a stone.

Iron Man sighs loudly. "I'll get him." He dives through the window and angles downwards, quickly out of sight. Steve peers over the smashed glass and sees Iron Man catch the Green Goblin - not his flying contraption however, which crashes onto the pavement below - and drops him safely on the ground where the police (or maybe SHIELD agents, Steve can't tell from this height) swarm around them.

Steve takes a step back and surveys the mess.

A light bulb hangs loosely from the ceiling, the wire attached sparking every now and then, and a layer of dust covers everything. A plant pot is missing its pot and lies in bits and pieces. Black Widow has a nasty burn across the side of her face, and Clint's bare arms are covered in gashes and burns.

Thor is still lying down, still cursing, and Steve walks closer. But then Bruce appears from the door, tentative, and once he sees Thor's agitated figure, he races over.

"Hang on, Thor, let me get the burn kit." Thor simply rolls over towards him, his massive hands covering his face. He mumbles something that sounds like a stubborn thanks, and Bruce flurries away again. A few moments later, he returns with a medical kit that looks suspiciously technologically-advanced enough to be a Stark invention.

As he gets to work tending to Thor's face, Steve looks back to the window. He hears the repulsors before he sees their owner, who flies back into the room.

"Everyone okay?" The faceplate slides up and there's Tony, analytical eyes searching out everyone.

"Fine. Thor's complexion took a blow, but he'll live." Black Widow reports. Thor moans as if he disagrees with her assessment.

"Good," the rest of Tony's helmet unravels back into the suit. He runs a hand through his helmet-hair. "Good."

"Hey, metal man," Clint frowns at Tony. "What was up with your aiming back there?"

Tony looks disgruntled. "One of the Goblin's electric bombs fried my circuits. I think he's been working with Doctor Doom – my suit had to restart. No way did he think that up all by himself."

"Where's Goblin now?" Black Widow asks, picking a piece of shrapnel out of a cut on her leg, without so much as a wince.

"With the authorities," Tony sighs. "Hopefully they'll actually manage to get him to the Hover this time."

"Shouldn't we contact Spider-Man?" Bruce pipes up. They all look at him, and he shrugs. "It feels like it would be polite."

Clint shakes his head, and stretches his arms above his head. "He watches the news, I'm sure he'll figure it out."

Steve realizes he's still holding the coffee table, and he places it back on the floor carefully. Two of the legs have been blasted off, however, so it topples into the floor with a loud crash. They all turn to look at him, as if only just remembering he's still there. He puts his hands behind his back and keeps his eyes on his toes.

"Are you sure?" Clint turns to Tony, his eyes speaking the full question. Steve knows what he's asking; his fingers twitch behind his back.

Black Widow speaks before Tony can: "He took out Zemo's base, Clint."

"I'm just pointing out the obvious," he rebukes. "How do we know he's on our side?"

There's a silence. And then Bruce says quietly, "Haven't you seen the footage? From the war?"

Steve's jaw tightens. But he refuses to screw this up just because it's about time he sees a therapist. He looks up at them all, and sees that every single pair of eyes is assessing him (even Thor, whose face is a mottled red with ugly-looking bumps scattered across his face).

"He wouldn't be the first soldier to go bat-shit crazy." Clint adds. "And I don't want to wake up in the ultimate super-solder's death grip, that's all."

"Clint," Tony looks like he's had this argument before. "Remind me, which side of the law did you start on?"

Clint doesn't say anything to that.

Black Widow flicks her red curls out of her face. "Get JARVIS to check him for any bugs."

"JARVIS?" Tony starts, and the English voice speaks up again.

"Checking now, Ms Romanoff." A red light passes over Steve and he tries not to recoil as it scans his entire body. "There appears to be no communicators, listening devices or transmitters on Captain Roger's body, sir."

"I'm not a Captain." The statement snaps out before Steve can stop it. He freezes and his hands clench at the small of his back. "I mean, I never was one anyway." He doesn't explain himself further; he's already given away too much information.

"Right." Tony says. "JARVIS, got the hint?"

"Yes, sir."

Steve looks around once again - he still doesn't understand where the English guy is, and where he was during the fight. He looks back and sees Tony is smiling. "JARVIS isn't an actual person, Steve. An AI."

Steve tries to expel the blood rushing to his cheeks to no prevail. "Oh."

Tony keeps his gaze on Steve, even though he starts speaking to the AI. "JARVIS, would you call the cleaners in the morning? It's too late to start cleaning up now."

Clint yawns his agreement. He flicks a wave at them all, walking to a door at the back room. "See you in the morning." But before he leaves, he clasps Tony on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear that Steve can't hear. Tony nods.

 

Following him, the others walk through the door, presumably to their various sleeping quarters. All except Tony.

Figuring it would be best to get it out of the way as soon as possible, Steve starts to say, "Thanks-"

Tony waves his gratitude away. "You've saved our ass twice now. It's only fair that you get a nice bed for once." He takes a step closer, and his suit starts to peel off all by itself - he's left wearing a tight t-shirt and slacks. Steve keeps his eyes on Tony's face, with some amount of self-restraint. "I'm sure you're wondering why I'm trusting you easily."

Yes, Steve thinks. Yes, I really am. But he doesn't say anything.

"You let me win." Tony says. "Back in that stupid arena of Zemo's?" Steve is, quite frankly, alarmed that Tony remembers that.

"You were going to win anyway," Steve protests half-heartedly.

"Three people have let me win before." Tony continues as if Steve hadn't spoken. "Natasha, Bruce, and you. Two of those people I already trust with my life."

Steve feels almost uncomfortable. He wants to say that Tony shouldn't, but this conversation is already taking a turn for the melodramatic, and he's really not comfortable with that.

"Secondly, you broke into Hammer Industries. I usually tend to like people who dislike Hammer." Tony ticks the point off his fingers.

Steve doesn't bother to tell him that his views on Hammer had nothing to do with the break-in.

"And thirdly," Tony folds his arms across his chest. "You worked with my old man."

Steve suddenly wants to kick himself. He takes a step back. "You're Howard's kid?" The connection is painfully obvious now; if not the looks, the simple fact that it could only be Howard's kid who decided to build himself the most ingenious suit of armour ever known.

“The one and only,” Tony grins. “No matter what those internet sites say about half-sisters and whatnot.”

Steve gulps. “I didn’t really keep in touch. After the war.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s not your fault, right?”

Steve thinks of HYDRA’s torture chamber with its strobe lights and sharp blades that took full advantage of his fast healing. “Maybe.”

Tony looks like he wants to say something else on the matter, but he exhales softly and says instead, “Well, it’s been a long night. I’m going to bed.”

Steve nods, and picks an overturned sofa back to its original position. He swipes the dust off and begins to sit down on it.

Then Tony says, “What are you doing?”

Steve looks back at him. “Going to sleep.”

Tony looks like Steve has grown another head. “Not on the sofa, you aren’t. Follow me.”

So Steve does, through the door everyone else has gone through and up a flight of stairs. On the way, Clint passes them with a foamy mouth and a vibrating toothbrush stuck in his mouth, but he only gives them a raised eyebrow before opening another door and shutting it behind him.

 

“Here you go,” Tony says, flourishing his hand towards a door.

The room itself is bigger than the entire apartment Steve grew up in – possibly double the size. The bed itself is massive – it might even be the first bed where Steve’s feet won’t poke out at the bottom.

Before Steve can protest that really the sofa would be fine, the door slams shut, with Steve inside the bedroom and the decreasing sound of Tony’s footsteps on the other side. There’s another door that he discovers is the medium-sized bathroom, though he’s sure Tony would only describe it as a simple en suite. He uses the opportunity to have a hot shower – he even washes his hair with the expensive-looking shampoo in the glass cabinet – and to brush his teeth.

He sees that a pair of pyjamas has been laid out of the elegant chair in the corner of the room. He strips out of his uniform with an odd sense of pride and shoves it into the small bin next door. Then he slips the pyjama bottoms on and he climbs into bed.

He wakes up when he hears shouting. The day sun is shining through the large windows, and he has to think for a second before he remembers where he is. He jumps out of bed – as much as he doesn’t want to leave the most comfort he’s ever had – and creeps towards the shouting with his hands rolled up into defensive fists.

He relaxes when he recognises the shouting is coming from Clint and Natasha. He even chances a smile when he realizes what they are arguing about. He walks into the kitchen silently, having to travel down two flights of plush stairs before he reaches it. His bare feet wiggle against the cold white tiles.

“It wasn’t me!” Clint protests loudly.

“I know it was!” Natasha exclaims; Steve is already used to her cool tones, so her loud voice is a surprise. Behind her, the toaster beeps and she catches the perfectly cooked toast without tearing her furious gaze away from Clint. “You’re the only one who knows how to work the TV!”

Tony, sitting at the table with a fancy-looking, lit up glass pad in his hand, frowns in offence, but just takes another sip of his coffee and doesn’t interrupt.

“Why would I tape over that stupid show?”

“I don’t care why, I just know that you did!” Natasha butters her toast with a ferocity that Steve slightly fears. Even with a nearly-blunt butter knife, Steve is pretty sure she could decapitate him without breaking a sweat.

“What happened?” Steve whispers to Thor, whose face looks marginally better.

He chuckles. “I believe Clint has over-taped Natasha’s television about the housewives and their desperation.”

Steve honestly expected something different from Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

It’s then, however, that Clint notices him. “Macho-Man’s here.”

Natasha eyes him. “Am I training him this morning?”

Steve begins to argue that he doesn’t need training, but Tony speaks before he can. “He can’t train until he gets his weapon, and he can’t get his weapon until he has his uniform, and he can’t get his uniform until I talk to SHIELD.” Tony looks at the watch on his wrist. “I have a video call with Fury in an few minutes, so he’ll get the uniform tonight.”

“So, tomorrow then?” Natasha looks oddly excited.

“Sure.” Tony turns back to his...thing. Steve thinks it’s a fancy-ass computer, but he doesn’t say anything for fear of being ridiculed by the King of Technology. “Blondie, you want some breakfast?”

Steve nods, and walks to the fridge, sliding around a stony-faced Natasha. He opens it and then the English voice rings out again. “I would recommend not touching the left-over turkey, Mister Rogers; I believe Mister Odinson is particularly protective over it.”

Steve nods, like it’s completely normal for an invisible robot to tell you not to eat a Norse god’s turkey sandwich. “Don’t worry, I’ll just have some fried egg.”

He finds the pans pretty quickly and within a few minutes, he’s tucking in to a healthy omelette (he had changed his mind about what type of egg when he discovered some unclaimed mushrooms in the back of the fridge).

Tony looks at him. “I would think you ate them raw,” he quips, and Steve finds himself raising a teasing eyebrow before he can stop himself. He quickly looks back at his egg and shovels a piece into his mouth with a fork.

JARVIS speaks out. “Sir, Director Fury is on the line. I have been playing him Metallica for the past thirty seconds, as per your request, but he seems to be getting agitated.”

Tony grins, and puts the strange computer down on the table. “He’s not a fan?”

“I suspect not, sir.”

“Okay, I’m coming. Set up a secure link in the lounge, will you? I’ll be down in a bit.” Tony stands up. “Thor, you’re in charge. Don’t let Natasha castrate Clint.”

Clint pales. Thor grins, and affirms he will do so.

Bruce walks into the kitchen just as Tony leaves – they brush past each other in the doorway, exchanging a friendly murmured greeting. Bruce takes one look at Natasha and Clint glaring at each other (Steve swears he can see icicles forming in front of Natasha’s cold glower) and promptly sits down when Tony was just a moment ago.

“Morning,” he greets Steve.

Steve swallows the last part of the egg. “Good morning.”

“I hear you took down Zemo’s base,” Bruce prompts, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“It wasn’t anything special,” Steve says. “Just smashed one thing against another.”

“Ah yes, the ‘Zemo-Zooka’?” Bruce smirks. “Zemo is certainly...original.”

“Natasha, get off! For the last time, it wasn’t me!” Both Bruce and Steve turn to see Natasha holding Clint in a headlock.

“It was the final episode, you-” She hisses something in Russian. Bruce winces.

“You speak Russian?” Steve raises his eyebrows.

Bruce twists his lips. “Enough to know that Clint might want to start buying Natasha the box-set.” He smiles at Steve’s expression. “I had to hide out in Moscow for a while, a few years ago.”

Steve, all at once, feels a strange kinship with him. "I know that feeling."

Then Clint bursts out, "Fine! It was me! I only taped over it for the World Wrestling-" He starts choking as Natasha tightens her grip on him, her expression turned murderous.

But then Clint swings his leg around and she falls to the ground and he takes the opportunity to run from the kitchen - Natasha is a second behind him, looking lethal even in her stripy pink pyjamas. "I'm going to kill you, Barton!" She screeches.

Thor looks up from the fridge, half of the massive turkey sandwich stuffed in his mouth. He seems to remember his assigned duty, and he looks guilty as the sound of mad footsteps sounds upstairs.

"Don't worry," Bruce tells Steve. "They do this every so often. Last month, it was over Clint's continued thievery of Natasha's hairbrushes."

Steve frowns, thinking of Clint's cropped mousey hair. "Why would he want hairbrushes?"

Bruce sighs in exasperation. "He bet Tony he could use anything as an arrow and still hit Iron Man's helmet."

"Did he?"

"Even when Tony was flying."

More and more, Steve is deciding that he doesn't want to end up on the wrong side of the Avengers. Then he realises that a week ago, he was.

"Do you think there are any clothes that'll fit me?" Steve suddenly feels a bit self-concious in only his pyjama bottoms. "Until the uniform comes, at least."

Bruce frowns. "Thor's clothes will be too big for you - and everyone else is too little."

"He could always try Natasha's!" Thor jokes. Bruce grins.

Steve decides to look in his own room for some clothes to wear - judging by the appearance of the pyjamas last night, he would guess Tony had already prepared for Steve's arrival.

But as he walks into the corridor, he hears his name mentioned. He frowns, and he really could just turn the opposite direction - whatever Tony is discussing with Director Fury, it's none of his business. But then he hears his name again and he creeps closer to the sound. He presses his ear against the door.

"Mister Rogers?" JARVIS' voice sounds accusative and Steve flinches.

He looks around, and then settles on looking at the small light on the wall - it's the only physical evidence of JARVIS he can see. "JARVIS, they're talking about me." Even to his own ears, he sounds guilty.

JARVIS sighs. A robot. Sighing. "I did not see anything."

"Thanks," Steve smiles in what he hopes the AI identifies as gratitude. "I'll... erm, what do AI's like as a present?"

"Your verbal gratitude is enough, Mister Rogers."

Steve honestly doesn't know whether that's sarcasm or not. Once again, he presses his ear against the door, and hears Tony’s voice.

“Director, I know I’m not the best at making decisions-”

“Damn right, you’re not, Stark. In fact, I’d say you’re one of the worst.” Steve doesn’t recognise the voice – it’s low, a man’s.

“But even so, I’m pretty sure about this guy.”

There was a pause. And then the low voice says, "Let him come down to SHIELD. Let us have a talk with him."

"No way."

"Stark-"

"I'm not having Coulson interrogate him. Nope. No way."

"Just a talk and some tests."

"Some tests? Are you crazy? No. He stays here."

"Let me rephrase: get Steve Rogers to the Helicarrier before I use your precious suit as scrap metal and I drag him here myself."

Another pause. "I'm coming with him."

"Fine. But I'm getting an agent to strip search to get rid of any of your silly little gadgets. If you hack the SHIELD interface one more time, I'm ordering Agent Hill to kill you in your sleep."

"You know, I don't hear you complaining when the silly little gadgets become property of SHIELD."

A deep sigh. "I want Rogers by twelve hundred hours today."

 

"Whatever."

Steve scrambles away from the door none-too-subtly as Tony tells JARVIS to cut the call, and tries to look as nonchalant as possible when the door opens.

Tony doesn't look convinced. "You heard that?"

Steve deflates. "What does SHIELD want with me?"

"My best guess?" Tony scratches the back of his neck. "They probably want to work out what makes you tick."

Steve frowns. "That sounds..."

"Creepy? It's standard procedure concerning superbly powerful people. Just in case they need to know how to take them down." At Steve's expression, Tony hurriedly added, "Seriously, they've done it for all of us. Nothing to worry about."

 

Steve sighs. And then he realises why he was walking past the conversation in the first place. He self-consciously folds his arms around his chest, and says, "I'll need some clothes, right?"

"Right," Tony's jaw tightens and Steve honestly doesn't know why. "Follow me, I bought some stuff in your size after I visited you in the Hover." They go back to Steve’s room, and Tony claps his hands. “JARVIS, wardrobe.”

“Of course, sir.” Steve jumps as the part of the bare wall slides open, like elevator doors, to reveal a small closet with various fabrics hung up.

“So, what are you in the mood for?” Tony fingers through the various clothes.

Steve hesitates. “Uh...”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” Tony grins, and then picks out a shirt and some trousers. Steve picks up the t-shirt and sees its SHIELD-issued, the eagle symbol clear on the breast.

Steve was beginning to think that Tony’s sense of humour wasn’t really a sense of humour as much as it seemed to be a suicidal death mission.

But nonetheless, he slipped the t-shirt on and pulled the pants on (while Tony had his back turned, talking comfortably to JARVIS).

Tony turns back to Steve. He looks like he’s about to say something when there’s a loud crash from upstairs and bit of plaster and dust fall to the floor from the impact.

Tony sighs. “JARVIS?”

“I believe Ms Romanoff just used Mister Barton’s explosive arrows to his disadvantage.”

“What’s the damage like?” Tony rubs his forehead.

“Mister Barton may be needing a new bedroom.”

“Well, he can foot the bill this time. And make a memo: explosives are to be kept downstairs. Or outside. Or at SHIELD, preferably.”

“Memo noted, sir.” JARVIS replies dryly. Steve finds himself smirking.

Tony turns back to Steve. "So. Do you want a tour?"

Steve follows Tony all around the house: upstairs, then the upstairs after that and then there was a whole other floor after that. They passed Natasha in the corridor, who nodded at them curtly with a face smoked in ash and frazzled hair. They passed Clint not long after that, who was holding his bow protectively and muttering something about redheads and their temper. They both made a silent decision not to question further.

"So who were you talking to? About me going to SHIELD." Steve asks as Tony shows him the secret trapdoor that drops whoever's standing on top of it all the way to the bottom floor at the mention of the codeword (which is Presidential Rainbows, apparently).

"Director Fury," Tony scoffs. "Wouldn't know a joke if it slapped its genitalia on his face."

Steve isn't quite sure what to say to that.

"You'll have the pleasure of meeting him at 'twelve hundred hours,'" Tony uses quotation marks around the time phrase. "Although, looking at the time, we might be a little late." He looks at his watch and looks almost pleased at the thought. "But I still need to show you my workshop, and the training area... He'll wait."

"Are you sure?"

Tony pulls a face. "If it makes you feel better, I'll give him the schematics to a new stun gun I've designed. It won't work, but let his scientists work on that. I'm too busy working on a version for the suit. He walks over to the elevator - who has an elevator in their own home? - and presses a button. There's a ding, and the doors open. "What do you want to see now?"

Steve looks helpless. "What else is there?"

Tony looks offended. "Oh, you poor boy. Come with me." He practically hops into the elevator, and Steve duly follows him.

The doors open, and Steve is looking at what seems to be a high tech version of the old mechanics that was down his street back in Brooklyn. He doesn't know if it's still there, though.

Tony's eyes light up and he glides into the room like an athlete might walks onto his home-town racing track. On one wall, various Iron Man suits stand, and there's various computers set up around the place and then there's an oddly placed Rolls Royce in the sort-of middle.

“JARVIS!” Tony claps his hands together. “Led Zeppelin – Greatest Hits, yeah? Volume forty per cent.”

The loud wail of a guitar startles Steve, and he looks at Tony with raised eyebrows. “This is forty per cent?” He’s been in the middle of an explosion before, and the volume wasn’t like this.

Tony grimaces. “Sorry, I forget that other people don’t have screwed up hearing. JARVIS, twenty per cent?” The music fades to a comfortable volume.

“I have been suggesting a check-up with Dr. Gregory for a while, sir.” JARVIS reminds Tony politely, who waves his hint away.

“He gives me the creeps. Anyway, he doesn’t do anything except stick a probe in my ear. And doctor’s suck.”

“You’re a doctor, technically.”

“Yeah, in mechanics.” Tony points out. Steve wonders how often he does this, arguing with an invisibly robot. “Complete difference. I’m cooler, mainly.”

Steve bobs his head along to the music.

“I remember when this first came out,” he says absent-mindedly. Then he remembers what he’s just said and he looks at his feet. They both walk back to the elevator and Steve looks determinedly ahead – he didn’t say anything, he didn’t say anything – deliberately ignoring Tony’s pointed look.

When the metal doors open again, Steve can barely believe his eyes. In front of him is the most practical gym he's ever seen. There's a large boxing ring in the middle and there's weightlifting machines and there's an archery range over at the further end of the room and a shooting range right next to him and there's punching bags and dummies and Steve can't wait to play with all the toys.

If this is what Tony feels when he goes to his workshop, Steve doesn't think he'd ever want to leave. There's even a vending machine with various sports drinks and energizing bars and even a sly shelf showcasing different types of candy.

Tony grins at Steve’s wondrous expression, and indulges him in teaching him how the dummies work. “See, throw a left hook,” he instructs of Steve, who does so.

Though he thought he held back on the force, the dummy now has an impressive dent in its head. Steve sort of feels guilty for breaking it so quickly, but then the foam fills out again, good as new.  
“Okay, now do it again.”

Steve repeats the action, this time with a little more power behind the punch, but this time, the dummy throws up an arm to block the move. Steve grins – this is going to be so much fun.

But then, all too quickly, JARVIS is reminding them that they really should be at the Helicarrier by now. Tony seems vindictively pleased. “Okay, we’ll take the helicopter.”

The helicopter has a showy A painted on the side, the symbol of the Avengers, but it works just fine and they’re up in the air pretty quickly. Tony drives while Steve simply admires the view. They land with minimal bumpiness, and even then Tony blames the wind. Steve supposes that flying around all day is the best kind of training for a pilot, even if the vehicles used are a little different.

A man is waiting for them. He has an eye patch and a bald head and a furious gaze that makes even Steve look away. Tony waves at him. “Fury, still rocking the eye patch, I see.” Fury’s stony gaze doesn’t stop Tony, who continues: “Looks good on you. Brings out your eye.”

If Fury is annoyed by Steve’s t-shirt, he doesn’t show it. “Rogers,” Fury turns to Steve, who keeps his face carefully impassive. “Come with me.” He leads them both through a few doors and corridors. While Steve had been expecting an interior similar to a Navy battleship, it was more like a science fiction novel, with its shiny surfaces and white lights.

Fury opens yet another door and inside they go - it's simple, with one metal table in the middle and a matching chair on either side. Steve knows the drill. He sits in one, Tony leans on the wall behind him, and Fury shuts them inside.

"Confidence," Tony says suddenly. "Confidence is key."

Steve looks straight ahead. "This isn't my first time in one of these rooms - actually, this is pretty docile." And there, he's said more than he should, once again.

But before Tony can comment, if he was planning to, the door opens again and a woman walks in with ink black hair, stern eyes and a tight, practical uniform.

"Didn't you say you were going to run some tests?" Steve looks around for the lab coats and syringes.

"Oh, you'd be amazed what we can find out with just some well-placed sensors and a drop of your blood." Her voice is cold, as one would expect from an interrogator, and she leans straight arms on the table.

"My blood?" Steve frowns. "When did you get that?"

"Agent Romanoff is a SHIELD agent as much as she is an Avenger."

Steve looks at Tony, who pulls an expression as if to say, 'what can you do?'

"I wouldn't be too concerned," the woman tells Steve coldly. "She just wants to make sure you aren't going to kill everyone on Zemo's orders."

Steve winces. Tony says, with a dark humour in his voice, "Steve, meet Maria Hill. She's as much of a pleasure as Fury, as you can tell."

"Very funny, Stark," Hill narrows her eyes at him. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Officially, you could call me his representation," Steve can hear Tony's nasty grin in his words. "I'm here to make sure you don't just lock him up because you feel like it."

"Because I feel like it?" Hill snarls. "Do you want me to list the felonies Rogers here has committed in the past year alone? Or shall I go through the past forty years he's been active."

"Please don't," Steve looks her in the eye. "I know."

"I'm sure you do." She crosses her arms across her chest. "Just because you sunk Zemo's submarine doesn't mean you get the all-clear for years of theft, violence, terrorism-"

 

"Terrorism?" Steve frowns. “I’m a terrorist now?”

“You’re aiding villains in terrorising mass amounts of people. I’d call that terrorism.” Her harsh gaze doesn’t waver. Steve is beginning to wonder whether part of SHIELD training is how to stare down your opponent.

“You wanted to ask me questions?” Steve decides not to respond to the too-truthful-for-his-comfort statement. “Ask them.”

 

Hill’s jaw tightens. “What were you doing with Zemo?”

“Working for him.” Steve says bluntly. He realises they were all hoping for a nobler reason, but there isn’t one and he doesn’t like lying to people who don’t lie to him. So far, Hill has been blunt and harsh, but she’s been honest.

“Did he pay you?”

“He fed me and gave me a room to stay in.”

“What did he use the money you stole for?”

“I presume funding the search for his Zemo-Zooka.”

“What?” Hill frowns in confusion.

“A Rachtor.” Tony interrupts. “Zemo renamed it to suit his ego.”

Hill exhales sharply. “And what happened to the... Rachtor?”

“I think it was destroyed in the explosion, in Zemo’s submarine.” Steve says. “I honestly don’t know.”

Hill raises a single eyebrow. “So far, you aren’t being much help, Rogers.”

“I never promised-”

“And if you’re not a help, you’re a hindrance.” Hill continues over him. “So tell me something useful, something that might redeem you or you’ll see how SHIELD treats hindrances.”

Steve thinks long and hard. “I don’t know how useful it is, but I know how to solve a Rubik’s cube.”

Hill looks long and hard at him, and sighs, her gaze flickering to Tony. “Stark, it seems you’re a bad influence even on criminals.”

“You’re too kind, Maria.” Tony bats a smile at her. “Can we go now?”

“SHIELD won’t be funding the support of Steve Rogers as a superhero.” She tells him. “However, we will be more than happy to provide him with a lovely cell to stay in.”

“SHIELD doesn’t fund any of the Avengers anyway.” Tony gestures for Steve to stand up. “Send Coulson my love – I haven’t seen him in a while.”

 

She doesn’t blink.

Tony finds Steve taking out his frustration on the dummies, muscles slick with sweat as he pounds away. His gritted teeth are a clear sign of his state of mind right now.

“You know, you don’t need SHIELD’s permission to be a superhero.”

Steve halts, realises he has company, and looks sideways at Tony. “I know.”

“And I already ordered your costume. It’s probably better this way, actually.” Tony pulls a face. “If SHIELD had designed it, it would be black with their stupid eagle symbol stamped everywhere. Hell, they might have even given you an eye patch.”

Steve turns to fully look at Tony now. “When does it arrive?”

“Tomorrow, probably.”

“And what about my... weapon?” Steve asks, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Do you want to see the schematics?” Tony offers.

Steve nods, and follows him to the workshop. The place is a mess; coffee cups covering where metal parts and piece of drawn on paper don’t. “Here,” Tony knocks away a strange looking prototype, which clatters to the floor.

Steve looks at it, expecting the most intelligent gun ever. Instead, it’s just a circle with various doodles and numbers covering the paper. He looks up at Tony. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s a shield.” Tony says quietly.

Steve swallows. He remembers using a shield briefly in the war – but it was flimsy, just a prop when cameras were more use than guns.

He hands the paper back to Tony. “Look, I appreciate the symbolism, I know you’re a big fan of it, but-”

“I’m a fan of symbolism?” Tony scoffs. “You’re Captain America, Blondie. You’re a living metaphor.”

And with that, Steve turns on his heel and he doesn’t care how nice Tony has been and how wonderful it’s been to be fighting on the right side for once, but this is too much and-

 

“Wait!” Tony catches up to him and tugs on his vest. Steve spins and suddenly, they’re very close. For a moment, it’s silent, save for their quickly mixing breath. Tony steps away first. “I didn’t design it for the symbolism, Steve. I’ve been watching you, and your fighting style.”

Steve’s lips press together, and he fights to keep his feet steady rather than running for the elevator. "And?"

"And," Tony says impatiently. "You don't realise how much you use make shift shields. Against Zemo, you used that car door, remember? And the Green Goblin? You used my coffee table. And even before that, when I saw you on the news using a door one time."

Steve really doesn't want to admit that maybe Tony could be right, so he stays stubborn and he stays silent.

"Just have a play with the prototype," Tony asks.

"You have a prototype?" Steve frowns in alarm. "Already?"

Tony laughs. "Blondie, I built the most advanced piece of technology in a week in a cave with scrap metal." It takes Steve a minute to work out that he's talking about the glowing light in his chest. "Making a disc out of vibranium isn't that difficult."

So Steve follows Tony to his work table, where, there it is, a shiny silver disc sits. There's an empty coffee cup on top of it, which Tony bashfully removes before presenting the shield to Steve. "Here, here's the handle, and the side's pretty sharp so be careful, and..." His voice trails off as Steve picks it up, bouncing it in his hands before slipping his fingers through the leather grip on the back.

Steve nods. "Okay. Throw something at me."

Tony nods, and turns around. Steve is expecting a rubber ball or a pen or something, so when he raises the shield in front of his face against the white beam, it's honest instinct.

"Tony!" Steve exclaims, lowering the shield. But then there's another beam of light, from a different direction this time, and again and again and Steve realises pretty quickly that this simple disc is perfect.

The beams eventually stop, and Steve lowers the shield to see Tony's smile, beaming widely, with bright eyes and half an Iron Man arm encasing his hand. "Well?"

Steve's answering grin says it all, really.

Although they should both probably get some sleep, and they've accidentally destroyed half of Tony's workshop with reflected repulsor beams, they stay up all night in the training room, playing with the shield.

"You said this was the prototype?" Steve throws the shield again and is proudly satisfied when it hits the centre of the dummy, knocking it over.

"Yeah, I was thinking of making an alloy-"

"Don't." Steve catches the rebounding shield. "This is great."

Tony grins and flicks another switch - a bunch of ninja death stars fall from the floor, and Steve uses the shield to...well, shield himself. They don't even lodge in the metal, just bouncing off harmlessly to the floor.

"So what colours?" Tony asks after another hour of testing the training room's facilities just as much as Steve's ability to use the shield.

"Huh?" Steve replies, dodging out of the way of an automated repulsor beam.

"What colours do you want to paint the shield?"

At first, Steve is about to say he doesn't want to paint it any colour at all. But then nostalgia clouds his speech as he says, "Red, white, and blue."

If Tony thinks the sentiment is silly, he doesn't say anything, and his expression looks more understanding than mocking. But Steve can't think about it too much because then a jet of fire comes from the wall and he has to roll out of the way, laughing as he does so.

Then there’s a pause in the onslaught and Steve, sprawled on his back with his shield above him, looks over at Tony. He’s looking at Steve with an odd look on his face.

“What?”

Tony shakes his head. “Never mind.” He presses another button and this time it’s any icy blast which actually manages to curl around the shield. Steve has to drop it before his hands get frozen as well.

Tony cocks his head to the side. “Well. That’s a flaw.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Steve says dismissively. “I mean, how often are we going to be facing blasts of ice?”

Tony laughs. “You’d be surprised.” He tells Steve, smirking. Steve finds himself grinning as well and this is more fun than it should be but he’s too happy to care. Tony’s smiling, he’s smiling, hell, he bets even JARVIS is smiling right now.

So, naturally, he has to spoil it.

He climbs out of the testing zone and puts the shield to one side. “So, is it good enough?” Tony’s hair has gone wild with excitement, and all of a sudden it reminds Steve of the way Howard’s hair would go like that, no matter what he put on it to make it stick.

“Tony,” Steve says quietly. “What happened to Howard?”

Tony’s smile vanishes and he scratches self-consciously at his forearm. “Plane crash.”

“Oh,” Steve presses his lips together and then says before he can stop himself, “What was he like?”

“A great man,” Tony says, almost robotically.

Steve doesn’t say anything else on the matter, mainly because he’s already overstepped his boundaries. For God’s sake, he’s only known Tony for a day, properly. Those other encounters don’t count, and most of them were as Iron Man anyway.

He fakes a yawn. “I’m going to bed.”

“See you tomorrow?” Tony asks, stroking his fingertips softly over the discarded shield.

“Of course.” Steve doesn’t look back until the elevator doors have closed and he’s being lifted back to his room. He changes quickly and slumps into bed. As much as he would like to pretend his thoughts keep him awake, a noble gesture, in actual fact he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

He wakes up later this morning, of his own accord this time. He yawns, stretches his arms above his head, but doesn’t make a move to get out of bed.

“JARVIS?” See, he’s getting used to this technological wonderland already. “What time is it?” Strangely enough, the room is without a clock.

“Forty six minutes past nine, sir.”

Steve nods to himself.

“May I also add that a package has arrived for you, and Miss Romanoff has banned Mister Stark from opening it until you arrive.”

Steve smirks. “Oh?”

“I can show you the footage to the argument, if you like. Miss Romanoff was quite adamant.”

“No, don’t worry.” Steve yawns again. “Tell Tony I’ll be down in a minute.”

And so he is, after pulling the t-shirt from yesterday on top of his bare chest. His bare feet slap across the tiles as he walks into the kitchen, where Thor is drinking milk with a pink straw and Natasha is standing inbetween Tony and the table. On top of the table, a huge brown box, longer than it is wide, lies.

“No.” She commands.

 

“I paid for it!”

“It’s his name on the address.”

“Only because I didn’t want it delivered to my Malibu address by mistake!”

“No.”

“I’ll just go wake him up then, you-” Then Tony sees Steve standing in the doorway. “Aha!”

Natasha sighs in defeat, and walks over to where Clint is furiously dicing an apple. She steals a piece, her fingers nimbly dodging the ferocious knife, and pops it in her mouth, ignoring the sour look from Clint.  
Tony seems very shy all of a sudden. “Uh, here you go, then.” He gulps, and gestures at the package. Steve steps closer and pulls the wrapping off with a few quick tears and tugs. He pulls the lid off and stares for a long moment.

“If it’s not what you want, I’ll send it back, no problem at all. We had three versions of Clint’s before he decided on the sleeveless, although I’ll never know why he wanted the purple instead of the maroon, I much preferred it.”

“It’s great.” Steve pulls the costume out and holds it against his own body. It’s not as extravagant as his costume back in the war, he’s grateful for that, but it still has the blue and the red white. They’re not as obvious now – like they were the natural choice rather than a forced decision to rally patriotism. The belt looks like it’s designed specifically for whatever new inventions Tony has thought up, there’s a small star on the chest about the size of his palm and the boots are sturdy and practical.

Steve is suddenly really, really proud, and he doesn’t know why because he sure as hell didn’t design the costume, he didn’t make it, he doesn’t even deserve it. But for now its just enough to hold it and revel in the fact he’s on the right side again.

He turns to Tony. “Thanks.”

Tony grins. “Go put it on – you need to practice. Natasha?”

Steve looks up to see her standing solemnly in her Black Widow costume. “Meet me in the gym in ten minutes.”

He feels very silly in his costume at first – he creeps around corridors to avoid bumping into Clint – but when he walks into the gym, Natasha doesn’t bat an eyelid, which makes his feel a bit better. Then again, she also didn’t bat an eyelid at a flying man dressed as a goblin, either.

He climbs into the boxing ring.

“You’re a strong guy, right?” She says. “Don’t rely wholly on it. Even the Hulk can be beaten with tactics and smarts.”

Steve nods. And then she attacks. Her arms dart out and as soon as he thinks he’s solved that problem by holding them away, her long legs come out of nowhere and kick him away. He staggers back and then ducks underneath a high sweep of her foot, but then he grabs her leg and she twirls but he throws the leg before she can complete the move so she’s off balance and it continues.

It feels like at least an hour before she finally stops – in actual fact, it’s probably only been about half that time. They’re both shiny with sweat but Steve is pleased to see his costume has held out well, not a rip in sight.

“You’re good.” She says.

“I’ve been doing this for seventy years.” He jokes, and damn it, there his mouth goes again, revealing too much too soon.

She gives him a steady look. “You’re not the only one who’s done some crap here.”

And of course not, what hero doesn’t come without baggage? But it’s the reason why he does the crap that keeps him silent.

She falls back into a fighting stance. “Let’s go again.”

But then an alarm sounds from the ceiling and JARVIS says, “The Hulk has been sighting fighting with Sandman – he does not appear to be winning.”

“Damn it,” Natasha curses, and jumps out of the boxing ring, running for the elevator. As she runs, her wrist piece is offered from a robotic arm in the wall and she grabs it, slipping it on and pressing the elevator button. Steve makes a move to follow her, which she obviously sees because she then calls, “Sit this one out, Cap.”

Cap.

They come back with cuts and scrapes and, in Thor’s case, a nasty gash across his already sore face. Tony strips off the suit as he walks in and Clint dumps his mask and his bow in the hallway.  
Bruce is there, rather than the Hulk, and follows them inside with a guilty expression. “Sorry,” he says, and with the expression on Tony’s face, this isn’t the first time he’s said that.

“Bruce, shut up, it wasn’t your fault.” Tony says dismissively.

And that seems to be the end of it – but just as Clint is searching through the fridge for something to eat, Bruce says again, “Sorry.”

Clint slams the refrigerator door and speaks over Tony’s tired assurances. “Well, he should be.” He says loudly, glaring. Steve notices a bruise is sprouting around Clint grey right eye; he’ll have a shiner in a few hours.

Natasha sends Clint a warning glare. “Clint.”

“If he had just stayed at here instead of going off on his own, Sandman wouldn’t have found him.”

“And the man of sand would’ve simple wreaked havoc without Bruce!” Thor defended.

"No, you all heard him! He only said he started fighting because he had the opportunity!" Clint slams the refrigerator door shut. "Just because Bruce couldn't keep it in his pants."

"Shut up." Bruce's voice is suddenly deathly quiet, and he stands straight, glaring at Clint.

"Okay, guys?" Tony stands in between them. "I really like this kitchen, and we don't need to find out what happens when Clint's explosive arrows meet the Other Guy."

Bruce's jaw tightens. And then he sits back down and put his head in his hands. "I was just looking for Betty."

"I know you were." Tony puts a comforting hand on Bruce's shoulder while also glaring at Clint pointedly.

Clint sighs. "Sorry, Banner."

"Doesn't matter." Bruce deflates in the chair. "I'm sorry too."

Tony spots Steve standing in the corner as discreetly as he can. "Hey, Blondie, why weren't you out there as well?" His smile is forced, and Steve gets the impression it's usually his duty to cheer everybody up after a fight.

Steve looks helplessly at Natasha, who speaks for him. "He can't go out this early - you haven't even painted his shield yet." Steve doesn't need to know how she knows this.

Tony sighs melodramatically. "I know, I know. I just wanted to see Fury's face."

That thought seems to cheer Clint up. "I bet it would tick Hill off no end."

Natasha exhales sharply and rolls her eyes with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. "Don't you remember what happened last time you crossed Hill, Clint?"

Clint's expression sours. "Please, don't remind me."

"Where is the mead?" Thor announces. "I believe we have earned a sip."

Tony points to the fridge and Clint does the honours, pulling out a six-pack and tossing a can to everyone in the room; including Steve. He catches it with surprise, and looks at Clint, who nods and then pretends the interaction never happened.

"Well, that's one more for the Hover." Tony says. "They'll finally get to use that electric mesh I designed."

"You designed the Hover?" Steve says in surprise, without thinking.

They all look at him and Tony searches Steve's face before saying, "Of course. Where do you think the whole hovering technology came from?"

Steve shrugs, and tries for a smile. "Well, the batons were Hammer-issued, so-"

Tony groans. "Please don't remind me. I keep trying to tell them the electromagnetic signatures are going to conflict eventually."

They fall into an easy pattern after that – they fill Steve in on what happened at the battle while he pretends he hadn’t been watching it all on the news with bated breath.

“And when Nat somersaulted over his hammer-hand-thing and kicked him the face?” Clint says enthusiastically, like a child describing his favourite movie fight scene.

Bruce laughs. “And when you shot him with a glue arrow?”

Tony grins. “I think you’re all forgetting the best part – when Coulson showed up.”

They all start laughing then, and Steve does as well, even if he has no idea who Coulson is.

About a week later (or, three missions and four more training sessions with Natasha), Steve has a horrific nightmare which wakes him up, his heart racing and his whole body tense.

Then Tony bursts into the room. "Steve?" He says frantically. "Steve, are you okay-" Then he clearly sees Steve, alive and well and no apparent threat.

Steve frowns. "Tony? What's going on?"

Tony huffs loudly, and leans against the doorway. The house is in dark silence, and Steve's eyes are still adjusting. "JARVIS reports when he senses a heart rate going way past the norm. He still hasn't learnt how to tell the difference between a seizure and a nightmare." Tony glares at the ceiling, just to prove how irritated he is with the AI.

"Oh." Steve can't help but feel embarrassed - the feeling is magnified when Tony cocks his head to the side.

"Want to talk about it?"

Steve shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. Just a nightmare."

Tony nods. "Right. Sure. Everyone gets those - us more than most, I suppose." He looks at his feet, and pauses. And then he says, "We all have...you know. Issues."

"I know."

"I'm just clarifying that you're not the only one. And, you know, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Right."

"Also, no-one will think you're weak. I mean, alright, Clint might make a joke, but believe me when I say he's just as screwed up as the rest of us."

Steve really wants the conversation to end. Right now, preferable. “Okay, then.”

“Okay.” Tony nods again – this conversation is clearly as uncomfortable for him as it is for Steve. “Okay.” He repeats, and then walks back to his room, closing the door behind him.

 

But of course, then Steve can’t get back to sleep again. He almost regrets not opening up more to Tony – and the more he thinks about it, the more he actually does want to Tony.

So he gets up, and walks back into the corridor. He’s about to go find Tony’s room, but then he sees the kitchen light on so he goes there instead, expecting Tony to be nursing a coffee or alcohol.

But it’s Bruce he finds, curling over a glass of strawberry milk with a gentle protectiveness.

He looks up at Steve’s footsteps and now it’s too late to run away so Steve decides to get something to drink – maybe a decaf, but he’s always seen that as a redundant drink at best, so maybe not.

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

Bruce shakes his head, and Tony clearly wasn’t lying about being the only one with issues. Steve imagines even JARVIS has some kind of PTSD.

Bruce reaches up into a cupboard and pulls out a glass. Then he grabs the brightly-coloured plastic bottle on the counter and fills it with the same strawberry milk in his own glass. He smiles bashfully up at Steve. “I know alcohol is the preference in these kind of situations, but I find that losing my inhibitions doesn’t always end very well.”

 

Steve smiles wistfully at the glass – he brings it close to him. “It wouldn’t matter anyway – I can’t get drunk.”

“The serum?” Bruce asks quietly.

Steve nods. “No kind of drug works, really. Well,” he amends. “There was one in the eighties, but that just made my vision go a little fuzzy.”

Bruce snorts. “I seem to remember one like that making a comeback in the nineties. But I’m not the expert.” He pauses. “That must be annoying when you get a headache.”

“Luckily, the serum stops those as well.” Steve shrugs gently. “Pros and cons, right?”

Bruce doesn’t reply for a while, and just as Steve is about to start up conversation again, he says, “Sometimes I really hate the Hulk.” He’s quiet and his gaze is locked on the pink milk even though Steve’s sure it isn’t really that interesting. “A lot of the time, actually. But he’s a part of me now. Like an ugly birthmark, but...Green.” He smiles weakly in that self-deprecating manner of his.

Steve can’t quite compare his serum to having the most extreme split personality disorder ever, so he stays quiet and takes a sip of the strawberry milk.

“So, why did you switch sides?” Bruce asks randomly.

“Well,” he smiles with no feeling. “It’s a lot easier to die as a good guy, right?”

Bruce looks at him levelly. “I don’t think Tony would like to hear that."

“Tony thinks I’m just misunderstood.” Steve rolls his eyes teasingly.

“But it’s not as simple as that.”

“Not quite.”

 

“Maybe Tony’s right.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m too bitter to be a good guy for long. Too angry.”

Bruce pulls a sceptical face. “You think you’re angry?”

A hint of red tints Steve’s cheeks. “Well. You know what I mean.”

Bruce twists his lips. “I don’t think I should be telling you this,” Bruce looks around guiltily. “But you’re not the only bitter one here.”

Steve’s eyes dart up.

“Natasha and Clint... They won’t say it, but we can tell. They can’t take a step without feeling guilty.” Bruce sighs. Steve realises with a jolt that it actually concerns him – more than an assessment, it’s a worry. “It makes them good fighters, sure, but...”

 

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“And the others?” Steve prompts.

“I know Thor doesn’t look like the type to be negative,” Steve feels this is an understatement. “But he has his fair share of worries. He has nine realms to protect, you know. I’m sure that’s pretty daunting.”

Steve doesn’t need to ask about the final Avenger.

But Bruce continues anyway. “And Tony is a institution of problems, as I’m sure you know.” Steve twists his lips. “I think he has a soft spot for lost causes, though.”

Steve can’t argue with that.

“How long has this...” Steve gestures around the room. “This Avengers Initiative been going on for?”

“I think the original file dates back to the seventies, but it was Fury, really, who made it happen. They recruited Clint and Natasha first – then Tony and his wonderful suit appeared and he signed up, about a year ago, I think. Then they found me.” Bruce hesitates, but then decides against saying whatever he was going to. “And then Thor turned up and of course SHIELD weren’t going to miss the opportunity to recruit a demigod.”

Steve smiles. “I remember that. When he crashed down in New Mexico.”

Bruce looks slightly confused. “I thought SHIELD covered it up.”

Then Steve looks away, uncomfortable. “I...uh, was doing recon. For the Wrecker crew.”

“The Wrecker crew?” If anything, Bruce’s expression is one of distaste.

“I only did that one job for them.” Steve defends. “And I made sure not to tell them about that woman, the astrophysicist.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling. “Jane Foster?”

Steve nods. “They only wanted me to assess the threat to their... interests. They didn’t need to know about her.”

Bruce finishes his milk and pours himself some more. “Who else have you worked for?”

Leaning on the counter, Steve confesses, “Anyone who would pay enough.” There’s no pressure to continue but Steve does anyway. “It started in 1976.” Steve remembers the date so clearly because it was the month after Peggy’s death. The final nail in the coffin.

“I read your file.” Bruce says quietly. “We all did.”

“When?”

“I think Tony found it after your fight with him in Zemo’s submarine thing. But the rest of us only read it after the whole Zemo-Zooka situation. When Tony told us he wanted you on the team.”

Steve finds himself blushing, though he can’t imagine why. “I don’t think SHIELD’s file on me would be a good selling point.”

“No,” Bruce agrees. “But you should see each of ours. I think Natasha’s is thicker than the Hulk’s thumb.”

“I wasn’t in the right state of mind when I started to do that kind of work.” Steve admits, Peggy and Bucky’s face’s popping into his head. “It’s not...” Steve struggles to put it into words, how it’s not the things he did, it’s the fact he did them. He was supposed to be the hero, the one in the right, for God’s sake.

“It’s been said before, but it’s not the fall,” Bruce downs his glass in one and straightens. “Maybe it’s getting back up.”

Steve sighs, and watches Bruce go back to bed, before doing the same. This time, he falls asleep almost immediately.

The next few days go something like this: wake up, eat breakfast, stay out of the way of whoever’s arguing today, and then go for training with Natasha. Then, lunch, and spending time with Tony whether intentionally or not. Insert an Avenger-requiring crisis into the mix (which was always accompanied by a tense Steve watching the drama unfold on TV).

It was ridiculous, really, how much of Steve’s life had changed in just a week or so.

Most noticeably – to himself, at least – was that his hair has grown out just enough to comb back. Of course, the most sensible thing to do would be to cut it short again, but Tony had most adamantly vetoed that idea when Steve brought it up, though he never explained why.

In fact, Steve quietly admits to himself, everything is going really quite wonderfully.

But then, one day, a call comes in from Maria Hill – the Avengers are halfway through the door before she adds, reluctantly, “Mr Rogers is required.”

They all pause for a heartbeat – and then Tony, clad in shiny armour, says, “Right. Steve, go get changed. Clint, get another harness for the Quinjet. Come on!” To their credit, everyone snaps into action without a second’s hesitation.

Steve runs up the stairs, grabs his costume, tugs it on, and is almost at the Quinjet before he remembers his mask. Being a superhero is complicated. He runs back, and a moment later, he’s climbing onboard the Quinjet, clasping a harness around him.

It whirs to life, Natasha at the wheel, and then they’re off and Steve holds on tightly to his seat. Thor and Tony aren’t there – he presumes they’re flying outside. Once they’re safely (sort of) into the air, Clint turns to Steve with a wicked grin. “This is your first time, right?” Clint knows fully well that it is, so Steve just stays quiet and drums his fingers against his knees.

“Barton, any virgin jokes and your next batch of arrows with be even more phallic than they already are.” Tony’s firm voice sounds in their in-ear communicators. Clint grimaces at the thought of penis-shaped arrows, and doesn’t say anything else.

Steve suddenly has a wild peak of terror. “Wait, my shield, I-”

“Don’t worry, soldier.” Natasha reassures him as Bruce pulls out a familiar shape from underneath his seat.

He takes hold of it, and runs his hands softly over the smooth surface. This is the first time he's used it outside of the training room - time to put it to the test.

They park the Quinjet in the air (Steve doesn't question the mechanics of it), above a skyscraper, using the co-ordinates Hill had given them. There's not as much screaming as Steve expects - but then again, all the civilians are on the pavement below.

Natasha beings the Quinjet as close as she dares (which is a lot closer than anyone else would even attempt) and then presses multiple buttons. A hatches hisses open to their side, and before Steve can blink, Clint has launched himself out of it, whooping in excitement that surely seems out of place. Bruce is a second behind him, growing green as soon as his feet leave the aircraft.

Steve gapes as the Hulk latches onto the side of the building, a few storeys above the black, human shaped goo climbing the building. Steve is about to wonder why all the Avengers are needed when surely the Hulk can take care of it, but then the black goo melts into the building and appears on the other side. The Hulk looks suitably confused.

Steve realises that it's his turn now. He gulps, and looks at Natasha, who simply raises a daring eyebrow.

He snaps out of his harness and before he can think too much about it, he leaps out in the air. The rush of wind only just manages to drown out his racing heart, his blood pumping hard adrenaline. He lands on the roof and rolls with the momentum, skidding to a standing position just in time. He pauses for a second, panting.

Then Iron Man zooms past and calls, "Are you done admiring the scenery?"

Right.

Steve is just about to ask exactly what he's supposed to do, but then the black good pops out onto the roof with a gasp, and Steve snaps to attention, raising his shield.

"Rogers?" The thing rasps. A pair of pink lips poke out from near the top of the shape, like they're struggling for air. And then they're gone again and the black good whips through the air just in time to avoid an arrow, which only narrowly misses Steve's ear.

Steve imagined his first battle as a reformed hero a little differently, to be honest. A noble fight, against a worthy foe. This one simply involves jumping of the way of the black goo and his teammates own weapons.  
Then a call comes in on their communicators. "Guys," Tony informs them. "JARVIS just got a DNA match - it's some kid called, uh, Denzin Smith?"

Steve's stomach goes tight. Clint says, "Never heard of him," a statement with meets a chorus of agreement.

No wonder SHIELD specifically requested Steve - they must have known who the black goo was from the start.

Steve says tightly, "I know him. He was my cell mate back at the Du- I mean, at the Hover."

"Was he always like this?" Natasha questions sharply, and Steve sees her being carried in one arm by Thor, shooting darts from her gauntlets at the black goo.

"No." Steve suddenly has a thought. "I know where he got it from." He quickly explains about how Denzin had created a similar mixture to infiltrate the Fantastic Four's home.

"So he combined it with himself?" Clint sounds disgusted. "Spot the idiot in the room." The Hulk roars his agreement.

"Isn't Spider-Man the expert in dealing with body-hopping black gloop?" Natasha says.

"We can deal with this," Tony says firmly. "Let me just call Reed and-"

"I know how they defeated him before," Steve says, swiping his shield through the air in vain as Denzin appears and then melts back into the concrete. "It's flammable."

"Awesome!" Clint sounds worryingly pleased as he aims an arrow from a nearby skyscraper. "I got this." He fires, one single orange-tipped arrow, and it meets its target.

Immediately, Denzin goes up in flames, tinted dark. The howls and screams of Denzin Smith are sickening to hear as the black substance shrivels and disintegrates into the sky like burnt paper.

No one says anything for a moment - then Tony says, tiredly, "Well, that was unpleasant. Everybody back to the tower - I have a bottle of scotch that needs drinking."

As if on auto-pilot (Steve suspects it's actually JARVIS driving), the Quinjet's hatch opens up again. Thor carries Black Widow, while the Hulk throws Clint with relieving aim and follows him with one big bound. The second before he hits the Quinjet, he morphs back into Bruce and tumbles inside.

Iron Man lands next to Steve. "Want a ride?" Steve smiles gratefully in reply and grips tightly around Tony's metal waist. The hatch closes behind them and within a few moments, they're landing back on the tower.  
Steve looks at the clock as they traipse into the living room. They were barely gone for half an hour, he realises in surprise. It seemed much, much longer.

Clint reaches inside the drinks cabinet and pulls out the promised scotch. He pours it into only four glasses, and hands one each to Natasha, Thor, and Steve, keeping the last one for himself.

Steve knows why Bruce isn’t having any, recalling their late night conversation, but he looks questioningly at Tony.

He smiles weakly. “Recovering alcoholic.” He points to his own chest to illustrate the point.

“And you still have a drinks cabinet?” Steve can’t help but be sceptical.

“Hey, I don’t want to be a party pooper.” Shrugging under Steve’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “Anyway, JARVIS is programmed to alert Pepper and Rhodey if I touch the stuff. He’s also programmed to start playing the greatest hits of the Nineties if I actually drink it.”

“Pepper?” Steve frowns. “Rhodey?”

“Pepper is to me what Spock was to Kirk.” Tony grins. “My daily reminder of logic and sense. And Rhodey’s my best friend. He moonlights as War Machine.”

 

“One of your inventions, right?” Steve thinks back to reports and articles, scavenged from the streets.

Tony preens. “Oh, yes. He comes to see me every month or so for a check up – you’ll meet him soon enough, I imagine. Pepper, too. But Rhodey’s a soldier, like you.”

Steve would hardly class himself as a soldier, despite his new title, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Sir?” JARVIS’s voice sounds and Steve has to stop himself from flinching automatically.

“Yes?” Tony sprawls into one of the sofas. “If it’s SHIELD again, get Xavier to deal with it.”

“There are a number of media reports surfacing about Mr Roger’s involvement today.”

Tony straightens suddenly, a tight expression on his face. “Turn it on.”

The TV snaps to life and they all pause to stare at the reporter on screen.

“-joined by none other than Captain America, the iconic wartime hero. It is unconfirmed as to the identity of the newest addition to the Avengers. Some are saying it is the original Captain, Steve Rogers, who was recently implicated in a string of criminal activity. Others think it’s just another copycat donning the famous symbol.” The woman looks at the camera with unimpressed features. “Either way, he wasn’t much use in the battle today.”

 

The screen changes to choppy footage or Steve trying, and failing with a dismal lack of grace, to punch Denzin’s oily consistency. Steve cringes against the wall he’s leaning against.

Then, back to the reporter. “Eventually, it was a fiery arrow from Hawkeye which saved the day, and the city. There are more and more questions arising about the self-titled Avengers. The most striking one of all is whether they actually do anything useful-”

Tony reaches for the remote and switches the television off just as the news cuts to a different story.

Then Bruce says, “Really, I didn’t think that went too badly.”

Tony nods slowly in agreement. “Especially with Denise Flaunders reporting – she’s had it in for us since...” he coughs uncomfortably. “Well.”

Steve looks confused. “Since what?”

Thor is the first to explain. “I believe Tony has done the ‘one night stand’ activity with this woman.”

Tony looks very uncomfortable now. “Yes, well, uh, that was a long time ago, and she’s bagged a Marine wife since then-” He’s drowned out by Clint’s cackling, and he flushes. “Shut it, Barton, I know about you and the bearded lady, back when you were in the circus.”

It’s Clint’s turn to blush now. Natasha turns the subject back to its original course. “Steve, don’t worry about-”

“Do you think I should tell them?” Steve says suddenly, the thought occurring to him. “My identity, I mean.”

They all look at each other, and then back to him. “It’s your decision, really...” Bruce says.

“You all have... public identities, right?” Steve says. “Well,” he amends, looking at Natasha, and then Bruce. “Sort of. Technically. You know what I mean.”

“Don’t worry.” Tony says finally. “They’ll figure it out themselves, eventually. No need to add fuel to the fire.”

But as it turns out, they don’t need to figure anything out, because on the next mission, Steve’s mask is ripped straight down the middle (fuck you very much, Sabretooth) and he throws it away for better visibility before thinking twice about it. He throws himself back into the battle, and only when Wolverine arrives and he and Sabretooth start chasing each other to the Canadian border, good riddance, when Steve realises his mistake.

 

He blushes and runs a nervous hand through his hair as Tony lands next to him elegantly. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” Steve says resignedly.

Tony shrugs – in the Iron Man suit, it’s a disconcerting gesture. “Oh, well.”

And that’s that. He turns to face the cameras and is about to smile before he remembers the gash across his cheeks and the bruising on his jaw and feels self-conscious.  
Tony stands behind him, and says through his voice modifier, “We can deal with this later. Come on, you want a lift?”

Steve nods but Tony is already wrapping a metal arm around Steve’s waist and lifting him into the air. Sure, it’s a little uncomfortable; this unique form of transport, but it sure beats getting a piggyback from the Hulk.

Steve isn’t really sure when he starts thinking of the Avengers as friends – maybe a month after his first outing as the reformed Captain America? – but it sure has its benefits.

Waking up at three in the morning used to be proof that he was messed up and incurable. Now, it means going down to the workshop to see what Tony’s working on at this time at night (more times than not, it’s something to do with an improvement to Iron Man’s suit), or going to see who else is awake. Sometimes, no one in the house is asleep, and on occasions like that, they all share a glass of chocolate milk and debate whether or not to watch a movie (and even then, when they finally decide on a film to watch, it’s morning and there’s no time left).

Sometimes, however, he goes into the kitchen and there’s just Tony, nursing a watered-down apple juice and a lot of bad memories.

He puts a hand on Tony’s back and Tony looks up at him with slowly-focusing eyes. “Steve?”

“Can’t you sleep?”

Tony shakes his head and puts the drink down. “I don’t want to. Just, not tonight.”

So Steve sits down opposite him, on the other side of the kitchen island. “What’s the matter?”

Tony taps an unsteady rhythm on the side of the glass tumbler. “Some of the stock numbers don’t add up... It doesn’t matter.”

Steve doesn’t question the graceless lie. Instead, he talks about himself. “I don’t struggle to sleep because of the serum,” he says quietly. “At least, not directly.”

 

Tony looks at him with eyes that tell him to go on.

"All my friends..." Steve takes a shuddering breath. "Bucky died and then Peggy and then all the Howling Commandos and I was still only ten years older even though I lived through seventy."

Tony pats his hand comfortingly. "It's going to be-" then he frowns; Steve has seen that frown before, it means that cogs are furiously turning inside of Tony's head. "Wait a second. Let me call Bruce."

A few moments later, Bruce is sticking a firm needle into Steve's skin, drawing out thick red blood. He pulls it out and looks at it. "I'll go take a look at it." He promises both Tony and Steve, before exiting to his own lab.

Steve finally asks, "Want to fill me in?"

Tony looks at him with bright eyes, and sits down next to him. "I remembered that my dad helped you, you know," he gestures to Steve's physique. "And then I remembered reading Dad's notes on the experiment and one little scrap that I never actually understood until now."

"What was it?"

"In one of your adventures, back during the war, you went to fight Red Skull, and he shot you with some weird ray gun, right? Your report was added to dad's notes and I could never figure out why and at one point I thought it was because he had a crush on you and you looked particularly dashing or whatever in the photos-"

"What?"

"-And then I remembered there was a little note on the top, just in pencil so I didn't notice it much, and quite frankly my father had worse handwriting than me, like a elephant was using its trunk-"

"Tony."

Tony falters and then his eyes gleam. "Electromagnetic radiation."

Steve frowns. "So what does that mean?"

"It means that maybe it reacted weird with the serum because technically the serum shouldn't be capable alone of increasing your lifespan." Tony shrugs. "It might not work but if we can counter it, your ageing should continue like normal."

Steve doesn't think about it - instead, he simply grips Tony's hand and says fervently, "Thank you, Tony."

Now, Tony looks a little bit uncomfortable, but he doesn't snap his hands back (if anything, they seem to relax). It takes a month before Bruce (with some help from Tony and Reed Richards and Professor Xavier) comes up with a prototype but as soon as he does, Tony drags him down to Bruce's lab eagerly.

"Come on, let's try it, no time to waste, come on Bruce," Tony babbles, pushing Steve onto a bench and then zipping around Bruce.

"What is it?" Steve can't help but ask.

"You probably won't under-" Tony begins, but Bruce, apparently taking pity on Steve, cuts him off.

"It's a reversing agent." Bruce holds the mixture up for Steve to see (it's colourless and cloudy - is that good or bad?) and then starts drawing out some of the liquid with a syringe. "It should, hopefully, separate the electromagnetic radiation from the serum's particles, which then, hopefully, means your ageing should progress like everyone else's."

"That's a very simplified version, yes," Tony claps Bruce on the back. "Complicated version means that Bruce should be getting a Nobel prize."

Bruce pushes his glasses back up his nose modestly. "Actually, Steve, I was hoping to write up the findings in an experiment, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Steve says absolutely; how can he refuse such a simple thing after the huge favour Bruce has done for him.

"Okay." Bruce takes Steve's arm gingerly and then looks up at him with an edge of guilt. "This could hurt."

"So did the serum," Steve replies. "Go ahead."

Bruce pushes the needle into Steve's veins and yes, it does hurt, quite a bit, but Steve grits his teeth and avoids Bruce and Tony's alarmed expressions until the pain subsides.

He gasps for air as he realises he was holding his breath. "Did it work?" He breathes.

"It's difficult to tell," that guilty tint is once again in Bruce's voice. "I mean, we'd have to wait for you actually to age."

The next week, Steve finds a grey hair amongst the blonde on the side of his temple, and he nearly cries with happiness.

Another benefit: he’s possibly at the best he’s ever been, fighting wise, thanks to Natasha and Tony and most recently, Clint.

He dodges another explosive arrow, jumping right into the path of a tangler, which wraps around his shins and pulls him to the ground. He rolls out of the way of a sedative arrow tip and snaps a knife from his belt and slices the tangling net away in a split second. He stands up again and Clint is nothing if not unpredictable because while Steve expects a stun arrow perhaps, or another explosive, he favours those particularly, an electric tip catches him on the thigh and he spasms back to the ground.

 

“Clint!” A frantic, woman’s voice scolds. The electric shock stops, as if it’s been turned off, and Steve sits up to see Clint dropping down from his sniper position in the rafters.

“Sorry, Ms Potts,” Clint lands gracefully and stands to attention in front of a strawberry blonde woman in a beige suit. “He wasn’t hurt, promise.”

“Has that arrow been tested?” She puts a hand on her hips, the other arm clutching a file of papers.

Clint mumbles something in reply, and looks at his feet. Steve stands up so he can get a better look at the infamous, devil-may-care, Clint Barton, being thoroughly told off.

She thrusts the papers at his chest, and he grabs hold of them instinctively. “Coulson says that if you don’t sign these by tomorrow morning, he’s going to chop off your most valuable body part.”

Clint pales, and then runs off, presumably to fill in the paperwork as soon as possible.

The woman turns to Steve, who forces himself not to shuffle his feet guiltily because really, he hasn’t done anything wrong.

She smiles though, and Steve smiles back in relief.

“So you’re the Captain I hear so much about.” She strides forwards on dangerous-looking heels (not quite Natasha’s standard, though) and shakes his hand. She reminds him very strongly of Peggy, but he quickly swallows that back down. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” he says, reflexively. “Are you Pepper?”

She grins. “I hope he hasn’t given you a bad impression of me.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not at all. He refers to you sometimes as his...” He frowns. “Jiminy Cricket?” Steve had obviously missed the movie that birthed that reference.

“I saw you on the news.” Then she frowns. “Didn’t you fight Tony? At Hammer Industries?”

Steve scratches the side of his head. “Yes. But, uh-”

“He wouldn’t stop complaining about that for a week.” She comments. She shakes her head. “Well, we’ve all made mistakes.”

“I don’t think most people have made mistakes like mine, miss.”

“Don’t be absurd. Natasha was killing people. So was Clint. Thor went looking for war, Bruce is the Hulk, for God’s sake, and Tony used to make money from people’s death.” She coughs after her little outburst, and looks at her feet. “Sorry. That wasn’t really my place to say all that.”

“I already know.” Steve says to soothe her. “Don’t worry.”

“You shouldn’t beat yourself up.” She says, determinedly. “Save it for the bad guys.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Then his communicator starts beeping erratically so he doesn’t have to.

He gives her an apologetic look, she sighs with a tired smile like she’s used to being left behind, and he darts past her and through the door Clint had just gone through.

They’re halfway onto the Quinjet before Steve stops, frowns, and asks who they’re actually going to go fight.

The silence makes his frown deepen, and he looks at Tony – who is determinedly staring at his armour-clad feet. Finally, Natasha replies just as the Quinjet’s engines start whirring to life.

“It’s Zemo.”

People are screaming and they scream even louder as the Quinjet lands in the middle of the mostly-deserted street. Dust lines the pavement and shop windows are either cracked or smashed.  
The Quinjet's hatch opens and the six of them clamber out - Bruce makes a funny choking noise and then he's replaced by their lovely green friend, the Hulk, who roars and smashes his fists against his chest.

"You tell 'em, buddy," Clint pats the Hulk's bicep.

They arrive and it’s utter devastation – whatever new weapon Zemo is using, it’s working. Then Steve sees him, standing in the middle of the destruction, surrounded by uniformed soldiers wielding strange-looking weapons.

Steve gulps.

“Well, at least he doesn’t have the Zemo-Zooka anymore,” Natasha comments lightly.

“It doesn’t matter a damn bit what weapon he’s using,” Clint replies, pulling an arrow out of his quiver. “We’re still going to take him down.”

He fires the arrow, a simple explosive with sets the battle into motion.

“Clint!” Tony’s voice sounded mildly irritated. “You know we’re not supposed to be the first to go on the offensive.”

“Careful, Tony, anymore rules and you’ll sound like Fury.” Steve threw his shield and watched with satisfaction as it ricocheted and knocked down four separate members of Zemo’s small army.

“No need for insults, Cap.” Steve swears he can almost hear Tony’s wink. There’s a possibility he’s been spending too much time with the man.

The battle is worthy, but ultimately redundant. Within a few moments, only Zemo and a few of his men remain. Thor quickly deals with the men using a few violent swings of Mjolnir.

Zemo doesn’t look particularly surprised at the turn of events. He spreads his arms wide, a confident pose. “I only wish to speak with the mighty Avengers.”

“I very much doubt thou, Zemo,” Thor holds Mjolnir in an extremely threatening manner.

“You think I’m a villain?” Zemo laughed a cold, harsh bark. A crowd has gathered now; apparently the people of New York are either trusting of the Avengers, brave, or just plain stupid. “Look at your membership. A maddened beast, an arms dealer-”

“Ex-arms dealer,” Tony interrupts haughtily, but it doesn’t deter Zemo’s tirade.

“-Two assassins, and, worst of all,” Zemo turns his masked face to Steve, who tenses. “A traitorous, merciless, thug.”

“Hey!” Some kid calls fiercely from the crowd. “That’s Captain America you’re talking to.”

“Captain America?” Zemo bursts into cruel laughter. “You haven’t represented America for nearly sixty years, Rogers. I’d say the Russian spy is more qualified.”

Steve goes red underneath his cowl – he hopes no one notices. He tenses, ready to rips Zemo’s head off if it means he’ll shut up.

But it seems Clint is having the same sentiment: a sharply tipped arrow whistles through the air and if it weren’t for Zemo’s quick dance out of the way, it would’ve sliced through his throat.

“Your precious Captain America is a liar,” Zemo tells his audience who watch and listen with a morbid fascination. “He has sinned in all the ways that count.” Steve has an awful, awful thought about what Zemo means by that, but he pushes it aside.

“Zemo, give it up,” Tony instructs sharply, hovering in the air with repulsors ready.

“He’s a criminal and he’s a coward.” Zemo looks at Steve with contempt dripping from his voice, and then back to the increasing number of onlookers (Steve notices grimly that there are even cameras, filming all of this).

Screw you, Steve thinks, and he lifts his shield.

And then Zemo pauses, as if testing the water before diving in, and then his voice strengthens and carries across the street.

“He’s also a queer.”

The shield crashes against Zemo’s chest before Steve even registers that he’s thrown it. The rest of the Avengers’ weapons follow a split second later; repulsor beams and arrows and poisonous darts and Mjolnir and

even the Hulk himself, who roars and simply holds Zemo’s face between a giant green hand and the New York pavement.

The SHIELD agents are next, swarming over the street, though Steve doesn’t even know where they came from. They trap Zemo in handcuffs and he’s quickly being shoved into a black van and driven away.  
Steve should feel triumphant – a personal victory is always the sweetest. But all he can feel is the loud babble of the crowd and the way they look at him differently now. Somehow, he doesn’t think it’s because Zemo called him a criminal.

Tony claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder as the police spread out over the scene. “Zemo’s a lunatic,” he assures Steve quietly. “It wasn’t true.”

But it was. Steve swallows back. Every word.

They all make their own way back to Avenger’s tower; Natasha and Clint catch a ride with SHIELD, Thor flies, the Hulk simply bounds across rooftops, and Steve is carried across the sky by Tony. They land on the rooftop in silence. Tony’s faceplate comes up and in response, it’s only fair, Steve lifts his own cowl up and over his head.

“You’re not a liar, Steve. At least, not when you don’t need to, which completely doesn’t count. And – well, technically, you used to be a criminal, but I think you’ve completed your community payback with flyingcolours by now...” Tony trails off. “You’recertainly not a coward. And... I don’t know about that last one.”

Steve doesn’t say anything – he looks at his feet.

Perhaps that’s answer enough, because then Tony says, “Oh.” And Steve hopes that he isn’t going to be kicked out of the Avengers over this, because it’s not fair that he’s come this close, and he’s wondering how he can convince them to let him stay, but Tony doesn’t say anything else.

“Look-” Steve looks up and frowns at the wild glint in his eyes and he falters. But he steels himself because dammit, he’s Captain America. “I just want you to know that I-”

And then Tony’s kissing him. Just like that. It’s amazing and Tony bites his bottom lip and the armour is digging in to his side which is when he realises how tightly he’s wrapped up around Tony and yes, he could definitely get used to this. They pull apart and there’s still that same wild look in Tony’s eyes but it’s good, it’s great, because Steve’s pretty sure the same look is in his own eyes as well.


	3. The Happy Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> epilogue. set about six months after the previous two.

Steve smiles into his pillow as he hears a yawn next to him. He turns around in the bed and raises an eyebrow at Tony's stretching back. "Are you going to your workshop?"

Tony starts visibly, and turns around with an accusative glare. "I thought you were asleep!"

Steve shrugs. "Well, I'm not. I'll go make toast - do you want any?" At Tony's hedging expression, Steve rolls his eyes. "I'll bring it down to you."

Tony grins and leans over to press a kiss on Steve's forehead. "Love you."

"Yeah, yeah, sometimes I wonder." Steve grumbles with a teasing glint in his eye. "You can make your own coffee, though, I refuse to be a part in that-" another kiss from Tony, this time on Steve's lips, shuts him up.

About ten minutes later, Steve is putting the third batch of bread into the toaster. It’s white bread, this time, for Clint, who is pouring a jug of juice into six separate glasses.

Steve treasures moments like these - maybe it's too sentimental to call them a family (definitely false to call them a functioning one) but they're pretty damn close to being one.

Natasha walks in with bed-head (it shocked Steve that Natasha could even have messy hair) and complains that Bruce's latest experiment smells of egg.

Bruce smirks at her and tells her that it would smell a lot worse if it had been done incorrectly.

Thor strides in next - wearing pyjama pants, everybody is pleased to see - and starts to tell them all about his latest dream. If anyone else woke up every morning and told their companions about their latest dream, it might become boring. But Thor's stories were never boring and were, in fact, something to be treasured. This morning, he tells them all of a flying boar which chases him across fields of toilet paper which sang one of Asgard's most famous poems.

Steve finally finishes all the toast and then butters two slices to put on a plate for Tony. But as soon as he does so, Thor snatches the plate from him. "I shall take Tony's breakfast to him," he assures Steve. "I wish to talk to his robotic companion, Dummy."

"Sure," Steve says gratefully, already sitting down to tuck into his own toast.

But then, before Thor can deliver the food, Tony strides into the kitchen and sits down in the seat next to Steve. Thor, along with everyone else, looks at him with a confused expression.

Tony sees them all staring, and then sighs in defeat. "JARVIS made me feel left out," he explains with an irritated expression.

Steve chuckles as Thor places the toast in front of Tony. "Well, good morning to you too, Tony."

But just as Tony lifts the first slice to his mouth, JARVIS interrupts again. "Sir?"

"What now?" Tony snaps.

"There are a group of men in snake-themed costumes robbing a bank near Times Square. Nick Fury is demanding your assistance."

Tony sighs. "We're on it."

-

An hour after that, they traipse back into the tower, covered in smelly slime.

"How's my experiment smelling now?" Bruce grins at Natasha, who scowls at him in response.

"Okay, everybody," Steve pulls his cowl off and runs a sticky hand through his hair. "Showers, and then we'll meet back here for a movie marathon."

They all grumble varying responses of agreement, and then traipsed off to their own rooms.

Except for Tony.

He grins at Steve and wiggles his eyebrows. “So-”

“Are you serious right now?” Steve knows Tony well enough to recognise that suggestive shine in his eyes. “We’re covered in stinky sludge.”

“Sexy stinky sludge?”

“No. Now, let’s go and shower.”

“Fine.” Tony pouts, and then brightens. “Want to-”

“In separate showers.”

“Damn you.”

**Author's Note:**

> also i have a tumblr under the same name (mmtion) if any of you want to chat


End file.
